


The Ravens of Erebor

by navyfeather



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Don’t copy to another site, Fanart, Fix-It, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mysteries of the dwarves, Past Character Death, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Ravens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-11-26 23:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18186989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navyfeather/pseuds/navyfeather
Summary: Ravens have always been held in the highest regard by the dwarves of Erebor. Something Bilbo never truly understood. Not until the day a raven flew across half of Middle-Earth to visit him in Bag End.





	1. An unexpected visitor

**Author's Note:**

> My first work... I'm rather nervous, actually. I hope it will be a pleasant read! 
> 
> _English is not my first language, so please, if you have any tips, advise, or found errors in my writing, feel free to notify me about this!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

Bilbo had never properly taken the time to learn about Erebor.

He would never tell this to anyone, but there was a weight behind that name. Behind its existence. Now don't think Bilbo did not enjoy his journey there. Quite the contrary! It had been, without a doubt, the best thing that has ever happened in his life. Having Gandalf knock on his door had been a blessing, in the end, though it had taken him time to think like that.

Losing Fili, Kili and Thorin had been unbearable, at first. He had gone home maybe a bit too fast, not having healed properly at all before he snuck off, without even trying to say goodbye to his friends! What shame he would've brought upon himself and them, had he actually left, not even having given them his proper thanks... But Bilbo was quite a small little hobbit, after all, and not used to such loss. Not in such numbers, and never this fierce. His parents, he did lose at a very young age, but their deaths stood remarkably pale in the loss of his three dwarf friends.

Especially Thorin's.

But he endured, like any hobbit would. He went home, sat back in his chair that, to his surprise, wasn't as comfortable as he had remembered it being. He forced himself out to the market, and, well – he had to battle for furniture upon his return. By golly, he'd slept on the floor for three nights straight, on the remainders of his friend's clothes!

Even so, he found joy in rebuilding Bag End. And perhaps it had been good. Returning to his old home would not have been possible. To return to his old ways, live on as though nothing had happened.

Refurnishing his home was therapeutic, and he found quite an astounding amount of joy in this. Especially scattering his riches and dwarfish keepsakes through his new home.

This home was clean of memory. It was remade, it was fresh. The decorations weren't his father's anymore, the position of the furniture wasn't his mother's anymore, and because of this, the dwarves no longer moved around like ghosts, emptying his pantry and walking over his table... Oh dear, that memory would never leave him.

Though don't think that was an ill thing. It was one of Bilbo's fondest memories.

The days went on, started with a rising sun, ended with a climbing moon. And he had little to complain, too! Had even shown his adventurous colours, and had chatted up with more people than just his neighbour and some relatives. In fact, he found himself spending a lot of time with two cousins in particular, young Primula Brandybuck and Drogo Baggins. They were young, but shared his interest for strange things and enjoyed listening to his stories most.

Bilbo was sitting in his garden with his pipe resting lazily on his lip, his mind foggy with Old Toby, when there was a loud caw. Grimacing, Bilbo opened one eye and peered at the origin of the sound.

On the gate of his fence sat a crow. Bilbo sighed and closed his eye. The bird wasn't worth the effort of keeping his eye open. At least, as long as it'd remain idle.

The crow hopped closer and cawed at him again.

Bilbo sniffed his itchy nose and glanced up again. The crow continued to hop closer. Other than that, it did nothing. It was only there to watch him. “If you want a drag, just say so,” he offered comically, holding up his pipe. The crow hopped again. “Ah, who are you kidding, Bilbo, crows don't talk!” he laughed.

But then he cocked his head at the bird.

“Although, I had friends who begged to differ! They do talk, master Baggins – I can already hear him say it,” Bilbo said happily. “And to be fair, I have heard spiders and dragons talk. I have seen it all, you might say.”

The crow cawed at him.

“Indeed, a dragon! The spiders were a whole different affair. Believe it or no, but they weren't as decent as the dragon was.” He puffed out some smoke with a chuckle. No wonder people were thinking of him as a little odd. He would too, hearing someone convince him of talking spiders.

He sat back, one leg over the other, his chest forward to bathe in the sun properly. Summer had come around for the second time since he returned. Ah, and how much he enjoyed it, too! Every day the sun was shining and sharing its warmth with him was a gift, for he remembered well sitting in Lake Town with his teeth clattering like the ticking of cutlery, or the coldness of the nights as they passed through the Lone Lands. It had been summer then, too, but it did not compare to the weather in the Shire at all! Oh how blessed he was to have a house here. A home, rather.

Bilbo was startled from his thought by the crow, who squawked loudly at him, fluttering its wings. A second later, it jumped, and flew towards him.

Wincing, Bilbo leaped off the bench. “Don't,” he said, waving his hand around to keep the beast removed from himself. The crow flew in a circle around him before landing on the fence, cawing. Bilbo huffed. So much for the promise of sitting still.

But no need to pout yet, he then thought! It was time for luncheon!

Bilbo made his way up to his door, extinguishing his pipe with his finger, like Bofur had taught him, but almost cried with fear as the crow followed him into his house. “No – don't you start this!” Bilbo said angrily, shaking his fist at the bird. “Out you go! Out!”

The crow sat down on the hearth, screeching.

Quickly Bilbo reached for a book on his table in the parlour, trying to somehow scare it out of his house. “Off you go! Back outside! Shoo!”

This time, when he moved the book closer to the bird, it flew.

Thank goodness. Having an animal stuck in his house wouldn't be the most ideal. Especially not a bird. He wasn't particularly good at catching them, and oddly enough, he wasn't very much at ease with them, either. He recalled well the company's laughter when Bilbo claimed to have a greater dislike for chickens than he had of the trolls that had almost eaten them alive.

It had even been the sentence that had earned him Thorin's first, weak grin towards him! Though Thorin had never admitted to it.

Bilbo shifted his attention from the bird to going into his own kitchen, and making himself something to eat.

He'd made himself a decent meal before he took his basket over his arm, and went out. The crow had been sitting on his fence, and had hopped to turn around, facing Bilbo once he exited his home. “Don't,” Bilbo said loudly, pulling the door behind himself closed. “Don't you dare, feathery friend. I won't have you snatch my shiny belongings!”

The crow cawed at him, and flew off, finally, into the distance.

Smiling, Bilbo Baggins made his way through the village, a sight that was still somewhat unfamiliar to his fellow hobbits. They thought he was mad before they would believe that, of all the hobbits to undergo such a shift in personality, it would be young mister Bilbo, son of Bungo.

At the market, he ran into Dina, one of the farmer's daughters. “Hello, Dina,” he greeted.

“Hullo Bilbo,” she said politely. “Come to buy crop seeds again?”

“Not today, no! I was actually hoping you have those onions with you again.”

The girl sighed. “Afraid not, mister Bilbo, the crows been at the seeds again, they've delayed our entire harvest... Won't be having them for another month, I'm afraid.”

“Ah, what a pity,” Bilbo said sincerely. Their onions were the most juicy and, call him a fool, but he swore they made him tear up the least! “I've had crows at my house too, just now. One of them flew into my house.”

Dina raised her brow. “How many? Could buy a scarecrow, we sell them!”

Bilbo chuckled, shaking his head. “It was just the one.”

“One of 'em?” The girl shrugged. “Why one?”

“I wouldn't know, I hope you could tell me.”

The girl shook her head. “Ain't ever seen a crow on their own, they always come in groups. A murder, we call it, and it speaks true – they ruin our entire harvest,” she complained, though not at all unkindly.

Bilbo cocked his head in thought. He was certain the crow had been alone with him. “Or... No,” he said in thought. “I would not mistake it, wouldn't I? Black bird, rather large, great wings.”

“How large? About this big?” She held her hands apart, but Bilbo snorted.

“No, no, more like so,” he said, adjusting the girl's hands until they were much farther apart.

The girl laughed at him. “That's an awful big crow you've got there, mister Bilbo, might eat you whole!” Bilbo frowned, wondering if he really had been that oblivious. The girl shrugged. “Might've been a raven. What did it sound like, did it chatter at all?”

“Oh, dear, I couldn't,” he said, feeling a bit ashamed of himself. One thing he was not at all good at was imitations, especially not with animals! Had Thorin not laughed at him when he'd tried to sound like Dwalin to get his point across? And no, it had not been a laugh of pride or resemblance!

Dina pointed away, suddenly. Bilbo followed her finger. “Is a crow right there, mister Bilbo!”

“Why thank you, Dina.” Bilbo moved away from the girl across the market. One tree was full with crows, so Bilbo inched over, trying not to scare them off.

They were talking to one another, but the sound was different. It wasn't at all the same as what he'd heard the other bird do... Maybe Dina was right. Perhaps it _had_ been a raven. But what would those be doing at his house? 

Bilbo purchased his things swiftly, feeling himself ponder over that bird. The exact one that was waiting for him to arrive back home.

It sat on the fence, and once it saw Bilbo, it cawed.

But it was different. It wasn't like the crows he'd seen in the tree. This one was bigger, even had a bit of a... a blue hue to it, like a glister in its rugged, tall feathers, and it had impressively large claws, one that frankly Bilbo was not so very fond of. They could cut him open like Smaug had almost done, he wagered.

Using the cloth that covered his basket, he wavered the bird away. “Off you go,” he muttered. “Please. Go.”

The bird cocked its head.

“Ah – please leave, or I am forced to cook you up as my dinner! Yes, I will be entitled to, if you stay here but a second longer!”

Only then the bird moved away. Bilbo hurried past it, afraid it'd come back to hunt him. Although once at his door, he was cautious, and glared back at the animal. He'd have to look up the difference between a raven and a crow, then... It would matter not, though not entirely willingly, he found himself thinking that a raven would make him feel more at ease...

 

* * *

 

Bilbo rubbed his tired eyes as he scuffed through his home, his robe cold around his body.

_That's what you get, Bilbo Baggins, for taking that cold bath_ , he thought to himself. But could one truly be blamed with such hot weather?

Sniffing, he filled a kettle and set it on his stove before he plopped down on his lazy chair. Perhaps he should work in the garden today, underneath the sun. That would do him much good, he was certain of it! Also, his garden needed some looking after. He couldn't rely on his neighbour Hamfast to do all the work for him.

Also, his mother used to say, there's no better remedy for disease than gardening!

He was sipping from a soft, citrus tea when there was a harsh, rapid tick on his window. Grimacing into the bright light of the late morning sun, he saw a dark shade before it. His mind flashed at the memory of seeing Gandalf stand before one of his windows, but blinked this away to see back into reality.

The bird was sitting before the window, tapping its large beak against his frail glass.

He'd actually taken the time to study – though you might not believe it at first – but he learned that this was in fact a raven. It were small features that set them apart, but certain facts about crows did not match up with the bird he'd seen, whereas those of the raven matched the bird perfectly.

And yes, he saw it now, too! With the big beak and thick head. Rather beautiful still, Bilbo found, and he watched the raven with his hands curled around his steamy cup of tea.

When he did this, though, the raven croaked, nudging itself against the window.

“No, no, you're not coming in,” Bilbo said loudly, hearing his voice nasal and a bit hoarse. The bird tried to hop closer, which had made him chuckle. So very stubborn and persistent, but he found those to be adorable traits.

After watching the raven for a while longer, it flew off, and disappeared.

Bilbo found himself in the garden long after afternoon tea, his hands patting the dry soil his plants were supposed to feed from. The one major downside of this weather, he thought, as well as the excessive sweating. He used his straw hat to ventilate himself, blow some... well not cold, but lukewarm wind against his face to cool himself down best he may.

There was a loud caw.

The hobbit's head spun and he was met with the raven. “Hello,” Bilbo greeted carefully, afraid it might attack him.

And it did. It flew over suddenly.

Bilbo screamed louder than the bird at that point, leaping onto his large, hairy feet, stumbling through his garden. The raven took his spot in the garden, settling on the imprint in the grass of where Bilbo's knees had been. “Shoo!” Bilbo barked in dismay. “Shoo, you!” Waving his hands did nothing this time, nor did it help to use his large hat. “Be off!”

The raven hopped briefly before it flew away.

“Goodness gracious,” Bilbo muttered. You must excuse his language. He was _not_ in the mood for mayhem today.

Back with his knees in the grass, he continued his previous chore, only to be interrupted again by the same raven.

“No, _no_!” Bilbo exclaimed angrily. He picked up his spade this time, pointing it at the bird. “I've had enough of you! Scram!”

The raven flew towards him, making Bilbo jump. It looked rather innocently before it lay something down on the grass, from its beak. Bilbo glared at the animal as it hopped backwards, cocking its small had and croaking.

Slowly lowering his spade, Bilbo inched over. The raven did not bite, did not attack. It only moved away as Bilbo approached, and crouched down by the item the raven had fetched him.

Bilbo's heart welled up negatively at what he saw.

Naturally this wasn't the first time he'd seen one since he returned from the journey. He's seen many, and more than plenty, he should say! After all, it would be riddled with them around autumn. Yet, somehow, seeing an acorn rest in the grass before him made his big heart clench.

The acorn was small in his hand, though weighed several stones to him. The raven hopped closer to him, cawing silently.

His fist clutched around the acorn and he sniffed. “Why, thank you,” he tried to say as politely as he could. The raven croaked, rustling its feathers by spreading its wings.

At a momentary loss of strength, he sat down into the grass, against his home, looking at the acorn in the palm of his hand. Last time he had one was actually in Dale, where he had buried it beneath snow, dirt and ashes, hoping to spurt life and hope in such a desolated city. He'd made a promise to Bard, and Gandalf, and received one in return.

It had been honourable at the time, but he has ever regretted this noble act of goodness.

Because the last time he held one of these in the palm of his hand, Thorin had been standing opposite of him, watching him with intent, his eyes dimmed from illness, his mind once more sharp, his words kind, his intentions good and pure.

And when Thorin died in his arms, asking him to plant trees, and watch them grow...  _That_ was when he knew he wanted to take it all back. He wanted his acorn back. He wanted to plant the tree near his home, he wanted to water it, he wanted it to flower, wanted it to sprout and, like Thorin asked from him, watch as it would mature into a large, healthy oak tree, one that would tower over the village, one larger than the Party Tree of Hobbiton itself! 

But he had lost this item. And seeing it back in his hand choked him up.

The poor, young hobbit sat huddled against his home, the acorn in his sweaty, dirty hand.

Perhaps moving on wasn't as easy as he thought it would be... Not when he had to move on from having known Thorin, and having lost him, in such a short amount of time.

His manners forgotten, Bilbo snapped at the bird when it hopped closer again. “Oh, shut it, and be gone,” he had told the animal. And it had listened. A moment later it went off, disappearing from his view entirely.

It was always hard for him to recover, especially after having relived some certain thoughts. Revisiting them was never a good idea. Not when he was alone. Some of his friends had already visited once, and it had done him a great deal of good, actually, being able to chat with them about the journey, but the more solemn parts of it. The chunks he couldn't quite get over himself. So, well, safe to say that meant everything that happened the very second after Smaug was shot out of the sky by Bard the bowman.

This was why he found himself behind his table not much later, writing a letter to Erebor. He would talk with Ori, who would write him back, accounting what everybody has said, and had wished to tell Bilbo. He treasured the received letters the most of all his possessions, he was actually meaning to write a book about his adventures someday, and include some of the nice things they would write him. Especially Dwalin, who'd gone particularly sappy since Bilbo had left them.

The wait for a reply was the hardest part, but he could do it. In the end, it was  _always_ worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so terribly sorry that I had to re-post this chapter! Especially to all the wonderful people who had taken the time to comment, and have said such sweet, touching things! My heart goes out to you and I really do feel guilty, I hope this can be forgiven!


	2. An unexpected visitor

“Blimey,” Bilbo muttered, pushing several acorns aside. What was this bird _doing_?

He moved over to the mailbox to check it, usually in vain. But not today!

Bilbo cheered without restraint, drawing out a thick scroll with a shimmering seal on it, black and veins of gold with a raven's head.

Feeling elated, he hopped back inside his house, but not before nudging some acorns away from his doorway. Ever since the raven had brought him his first acorn, it'd been doing nothing but depositing them before his door. Bilbo had actually slipped on one when he hadn't realised the raven had done this, having almost cracked his skull on the stone floor! And unlike dwarves, his wasn't made of rock!

Settling down with a cup of tea and a dish of cookies and almonds, he started his read.

Oh, how he was missed, it always warmed his heart! Ori would be so very descriptive, the young dwarf could speak hours about something so very plain and simple. It was clear to him as daylight that at some point someone had begged the youthful scribe to stop, before the mountain would run out of parchment, for suddenly the subject shifted, and continued to do so rapidly.

But they were all happy in Erebor, with Dain Ironfoot as their rightful king. Memories of Thorin Oakenshield, and the princes Fili and Kili have not yet been forgotten, he has been told, and their tapestries have found their own, prestigious place in the Gallery of Kings. Thorin's banner was navy blue and crimson red, Ori had said, which had brought tears to his eyes. Navy-blue, Thorin's signature colour, and crimson, the 'colour of his heart, and his unyielding courage'. But Bilbo knew what that meant. And they did, too. Still, he was more than touched to know why they had done that... But it brought much unprocessed grief.

Through his tears he read the rest of the letter. On a more positive note, the dwarves would soon come and visit him! Many had already signed up for tea at four, and it had Bilbo laugh. This time, he'd have more than enough time to prepare his pantry for their hoarding and their cravings!

Knowing he'd soon have dwarves in his home again made him feel giddy and fresh, happy to know his friends still cared for him. He would wish to return to Erebor himself, but found himself not quite capable. To revisit certain landmarks only to be haunted by memories... So far they were still pure and reserved for _one_ journey... If he would visit Rivendell again, who was to say he'd not gain new memories for either the better or worse? What if he would, from then on, not associate to Bofur's merry singing or Thorin's heartfelt story of fireflies and his youth, but would think of Rivendell as the place where, say, he choked on an olive, and there was no one there to help him?

Could he really afford to rewrite certain memories already?

Bilbo's finger slid across the parchment, but his head went up at a particular piece of Ori's writing. Bilbo had mentioned the obnoxious raven in one of his letters, or rather had said that the raven had brought him the offering, which Ori had helpfully responded to.

_Ravens have always played a very important role to the dwarves in the Lonely Mountain. Thorin's grandfather, king Thror, used ravens to gather information. Many ravens have long since returned to us. They are allies, nearly kindred to us, for they speak to us like close friends! Not only are they used for seeking out secrets, they are reliable, trustworthy animals, though a bit pigheaded at times, and they are very wise! Wiser than Nori himself, I might even say! (Can snatch items better than he can, too!)  
_

_Members of the royal family would often have their own bird, as dwarf princes will commonly be found with the animal of their clan, or kingdom. All of Thror's children had ravens, except for Fili and Kili. They would have bound upon their return to Erebor._

_Try and talk to it! It might speak Westron if it's educated enough, and will most likely be very friendly to you._

_Oh, but do not, ever, under no circumstance, boop its beak. They'll bite and scream bloody murder._

Bilbo laughed at that. Ori was always so good at cheering him up!

This was very useful information, he had found. The raven would continue dropping acorns by his door, so who knew. Perhaps he could... in a way, actually communicate with the animal. And if not through speech, maybe he could find another way!

Safe to say, he found a new wave of optimism, and although he did not find the bird at once, he couldn't wait to start this little experiment.

 

* * *

 

One day had gone by, and Bilbo did not find the raven. Nor were there any new acorns on his doorstep.

Four days had passed, and every time he went outside, he was met with an empty fence.

Two weeks, and Bilbo found himself sitting on his bench, waiting for the return of the raven, that just did not seem to come.

Two and a half weeks, and Bilbo dismissed his task entirely.

How silly of him to think a simple raven would sit around, just for him. It was a bird, after all, that had perhaps found Bilbo's house so very homely, he'd wanted to build a nest there.

The sun lost strength and the stretched days shortened as autumn began to crawl nearer. A very lovely season, in his opinion, where leaves would shed and nuts would fall. He could attend another tournament of conkers this year! It's been quite some time, after all, and he was particularly good at that sport. Or used to be, before he went on an adventure. Even won, once. A pumpkin pie, and a very delicious one at that!

Bilbo had just drawn some carrots from the ground when he heard a strange shift of wind. Glancing up, he found the large, dark raven, settled on his fence. “Ah, hello!” Bilbo welcomed.

The raven cawed at him, pushing its beak underneath its wing to clean it.

Bilbo got on his feet, using an old rag to remove his hands from soil and mud as he slowly approached the raven, not meaning at all to startle it, or scare it off. “Can you speak?” he asked. If his fellow hobbits would see him now, mad Baggins would be permanently written on his brow then! “Are you a raven from Erebor?” he tried, but the raven remained unresponsive, too busy cleaning its feathers. “Westron. Do you understand that? Or do you only speak in the language of my dwarf friends, because I do not know that.”

The beautiful bird stopped cleaning himself, and looked straight into Bilbo's eyes with his small, beaded black ones.

And then it _screeched_.

Bilbo screamed in harmony, pressing his hands to his ears. The sound was shrill and dry, though piercing in his ears. “What? What do you want?” Bilbo asked rudely. And then the raven flew off. “Ah, you blasted animal...” Bilbo pushed his finger in his ear and rubbed it. “Brought me nothing but ear damage, you have!”

Even though he was dead-set on not forgiving the bird, it returned, and when it had, Bilbo was not mad.

The raven croaked curiously this time. Yet again it bore a gift. Not unlike the ones he'd already seen, and yet, this wasn't the same. “Where did you get this?” Bilbo breathed in bewilderment. From the ground, he picked up an acorn that slotted perfectly in his palm. It was still a bit green but it was healthy, it was strong, it was soft and untouched... He knew the feeling of this particular acorn, somehow...

Just as he was rotating the acorn between his fingers, the raven searched its feathers, and drew from it a piece of straw. Bilbo raised his brow as the raven hopped closer, lay the string of hay down, and flew off.

“Wait!” Bilbo bellowed, before he realised the raven went to sit itself down on his fence. Good... _Good_. Because he needed a moment to assess this. Even though, somewhere in his head, he knew perfectly well what he had been gifted.

But it _couldn't_ be.

The hobbit seated himself properly on his bench this time, the acorn tucked safely into a pocket of his clothes. The raven sat opposite of him, quiet and observing. “Can you speak?” Bilbo asked again. “Westron, perhaps?”

It croaked silently.

“Do you understand me? Could – Could you maybe flap your wings if you can.” Nothing happened. “Maybe make a sound if you do. If you understand what I'm saying. Flap your wings.”

Instead, the raven hopped over to him, cocking its head.

Bilbo sighed deeply at himself. “Oh Bilbo Baggins, so very foolish at heart,” he muttered. “Of course it does not speak. It's a bird!”

_But I spoke with spiders, and with a dragon._

No, that was not the same. Those were rather magical animals, were they not? Spiders the size of the mill over at Proudfoot's farm, and a dragon, well... Could he compare it to a bird? They could both fly, but that was really all the resemblance they had. He's never heard a cow speak before, or a pig. Not even a small spider in his house!

“Outrageous,” Bilbo puffed, pushing himself up from his bench. “You do not speak. What was I thinking! Perhaps the journey is catching up with me again... It is but a mere wish, I think... To see some magic again, have some excitement back in my life.” Bilbo snorted at his own expense. “I spend almost three weeks waiting for you. You, my little bird friend, have become the most interesting thing in my life... How did it get this far, hm?” The bird looked at him, so he smiled. “Unless, of course, you feel a sudden desire to speak to me!”

It did not. It only ruffled its feathers and puffed up.

“Thought as much,” he said. “Very well, a good evening to you then.”

When Bilbo turned around, however, the bird croaked loudly. He looked back at the raven, who hopped closer, cawing almost frantically at him.

“What? I couldn't understand that even if I wanted to.”

For a moment, Bilbo actually believed the raven was annoyed with him. It flew past him towards the door and hang still in the air before it, squawking at him.

Bilbo shook his head. “No, absolutely not! You are not coming inside with me!” The raven sat down before his door, cawing louder. “ _No_ , I don't want feathers and worms all over my home!” After having said that, the raven turned around, and started scratching its beak against the door. “Hey – watch that!” He ran up the small hill, but the animal was not intimidated. “Stop it you, you'll scratch off the paint, and I am _not_ painting this door again!”

The raven croaked, continuing to push his beak against the door.

“No no no – _don't_ touch it there,” Bilbo scolded, now nudging it away with his foot. It was starting to damage Gandalf's mark, one he valued beyond measure. The one reason he did not paint his door anymore. “If you damage that, I will damage you, am I making myself clear?” he asked, his nose raised into the air. The bird cawed. “No, I will hear no such excuses, you are not going to damage my door any further! Thank you for the acorn, and have a lovely day. Now please be off. Fly.” Bilbo gestured at the sky. “Play with your other raven friends.”

The sound the animal made could almost be perceived as sad. It flew away and settled back on the fence. Bilbo uncomfortably slipped into his home then, not at all enjoying being looked at by a bird. Not like this.

And to him, it got even more disturbing to realise that the bird stuck around!

He'd almost felt scared to see the raven nestle against his bedroom window, sulking together until it was resting, and seemingly asleep. Oh how tempted he'd been to open the window and push it away with his broomstick, but he couldn't do it. There was still some good in him yet, so he had strung some rope and covered the window with a cloth, so he couldn't see the bird. Knowing it was still there, though, felt a bit nightmarish, and did not help croon him asleep in the slightest.

Waking up to its purring was _even worse_.

Annoyed as a hobbit could be when woken from their peaceful slumber, Bilbo stomped through the house in a loose bathrobe around his body, face dark and spirits dampened. Because that bloody bird was _everywhere_.

When he sat in the kitchen sipping from his morning blend, it sat in his window, and watched. When he went outside to check the mailbox, the bird flew at him and squawked, circling his head. When he went to sweep the chamber, there was the rapid ticking against his window that drove him _mad_.

And so it was that Mad Baggins ran outside, with his broom in hand, waving it in the air to shoo the raven. “Get!” he barked. “Go away, leave me at peace! I have never tasted raven before but you surely do make me keen to try!”

Bounder Finco, who was just walking by, raised his brow. “You a'right, mister Bilbo?” he asked.

Bare-teethed he looked at Finco, who flinched at his appearance. “These birds are flocking my home! He's woken me _far_ before sunrise and has been bothering me since!”

“They be a murder of crows?” he asked.

“No, no, this is one raven, and it is far too sociable for my taste! It was cute when it fetched me acorns but this is outright infuriating!”

Finco moved closer to his garden, glancing around. “What raven are you talking about, then?”

Bilbo let out an astonished breath. It was gone. “ _Finally_.”

Finco nodded slowly, taking a step back. “You be good, mister Biblo...”

“Yes, yes – “ Bilbo laughed with relief, though it was partially an expression of ridicule. “Yes, I will most certainly be that, Finco! I will be good, good – _very_ good!”

The bounder hesitated a moment about Bilbo's sanity before he walked away. Bilbo, however, beamed with pride, glad to be removed from the raven at last.

The day went on as it always did, and Bilbo Baggins fancied himself one of his old novels before the fire. Not that it was really cold enough to light one in the first place, it was more of a soothing comfort, having one flicker in the hearth.

But clearly, he had made someone jealous. Bilbo slowly looked up, his face strain with irritation when the ticking on his window continued.

And when there was a soft, begging caw, he lost his wits.

He almost tossed with his book, he did, before he stormed out of his home. “Be gone!” Bilbo barked. The bird flew over to him. “No. _No!_ I do not want any birds around here, thank you, so please, for the love of all that is good and precious, _leave_!!”

The raven made a very short, snappish sound.

“Ah – well have I ever! A bird with a temper, have we now?!”

If you think Bilbo could not get angrier, you are mistaken. But you must be fair to him, this bird was tempting his limits like the dwarves used to on his journey. The raven hopped off the ground, and soared straight into his house, having slipped through his open door.

Bilbo was close to shouting as he marched back into his smial, where he found the bird sitting on the armrest of his chair, watching him. “Yes, yes, stay close to the fire. It is nice and warm,” Bilbo said. The bird bounced a bit and croaked. “Would you like that? Yes? Near to the fire?” This time, the raven hopped down, straight onto the seat. Bilbo's fists clenched, but the bird was perfectly peaceful. It settled on there, making itself smaller as though it was preparing itself to sleep.

But, he heard himself think, this was a positive change! Maybe, if it was asleep and therefor taken from all consciousness, he could catch it and toss it back outside. After all, he didn't think ravens clever enough to be aware of their surroundings when resting.

That is why he sat on another chair, his eyes on the bird. It did not sleep. Bilbo was not even sure if it would, ever. Perhaps the ravens of Erebor did not sleep – _if_ this raven was even from Erebor! Who knew! This could just be a homeless, lost bird, who'd found his home particularly nice to stay in... _Why_ was he always this unlucky?

The raven did not lose its sharpness. Often it would still peer at Bilbo, though would not move or make a sound. Bilbo had rolled his eyes at the animal. As long as it would just lay there, well... it'd be sort of like a cat, wouldn't it? Now he was not very fond of the felines himself, nor was he of this bird. But at least it caused no more fuss, so he found the safety to go to the kitchen, and prepare himself supper. While doing so, he was met with a soft croak. Bilbo froze instantly, afraid the raven might have settled in one of his pots somewhere, enjoying a bath in the bubbling, boiling water on the stove.

Alas, it had not. Instead it still lay like a soft ball of feathers on his chair, but its head was raised in awareness. “You're not getting any,” Bilbo told the raven.

And just like that, it spurted off, and flew away.

“No!” Bilbo cried with dismay. He should've caught it when he still had the chance! He was such an idiot!

The hobbit growled, setting his cooking aside to search for the raven. He heard the occasional cawing, a frantic flutter, or the flapping of large wings, but locating it proved to be fairly difficult. With a pan in his hands as his weapon, having neglected all the swords, daggers and axes that decorated his walls, he patted through his large home in search of the raven. It was such a big bird, how could he even lose it to begin with?

At long last, he found the raven sitting in his study room, on top of his writing table. “I'll warn you once more,” Bilbo whispered, his hands tightening around the frying pan in his hands.

The raven did not make a sound. Instead, it soared to the floor, and hopped across it towards a small box.

“No, stay away from that!” Bilbo said sharply. It was actually the cache he'd buried from the Trollshaws, but as of now it held more homely treasures. In there, for instance, was a golden pin from Lake Town, one he'd worn when they first departed and traveled to the mountain. Bofur's knitted gloves were in there, kept safe until they could be used once more. There was a toy Bifur had crafted himself – and quite a beautiful thing it is, too!

But the one item that robbed the chest from most of its available space was a simple shirt, a tunic, rather, that Thorin had at some point worn during their journey. One of the keepsakes that was the _most_ important to him.

Caught in a moment of sentiment, he barely realised the raven was still tapping its large beak against the wood, and then flew to sit on top of it, moving its wings impatiently. Bilbo stood still, his head bowed.

The raven croaked quietly and flew back to sit on the back of his chair, very close to Bilbo, and it cocked its head briefly.

Oh, how very alone Bilbo felt, suddenly... He could not wait for his friends to visit. Yes, he did go out more, he socialized – or attempted to, which he should be given more credit for, he believed. He would often visit his kin nowadays, they would occasionally pass by his home, sip from some tea, share a very ordinary story about crops and cattle and flowers. All more of the same. Where had all the excitement gone? Tales of axes wedged into foreheads, tales of dragon fire and betrayal, tales of... _anything_ that wasn't related to the dullness of a well-lived life in the Shire.

He was a misfit, and he felt it. Sadly he sank down onto the chair, uncaring that the bird still sat there as well. In precaution it did fly away, sitting on the table while Bilbo occupied the seat for himself, leaning heavily down on his knees. His feet were clean... To think he would long for the days he had no chance to clean them from dirt and dust and ash and grime and cobwebs.

And how blessed he would feel when Thorin halted the entire company, so that master Baggins could clean his big feet by a nearby current...

He was drawn from his haze by the raven. Right! He'd entirely forgotten that problem.

Although... was it really that big of a problem?

The hobbit thought about it. He yearned for adventure, for something odd, something new. But what could be more thrilling than having a pet raven! Perhaps it did not understand him, but it had flown into his house without the intent to escape, it had settled on his chair like he would himself, and now it accompanied him in a moment of weakness. Would this not be something that could make him feel like a dwarf? To have a feathery friend that was a bit out of the ordinary, though very special.

With pursed lips he watched the raven cock his head repeatedly at him. “Very well,” Bilbo then decided. “You may stay and keep me company, and I shall, in return, keep yours!”


	3. Old friends

“Oh dear me – not near the soup! Please!”

Bilbo hurried over, startling the raven and urging it to fly away. He couldn't afford to find feathery bits in his soup, couldn't he?

With big oven mitts on his hands he transported the pan from the fire to the table. It was about ready to be eaten, he reckoned. Bilbo stirred the large ladle through his broth before taking a sip. It was magnificent! A bit spicy, maybe, but he enjoyed the soft tickle that came with. “Excellent,” he declared. The raven sat on the back of one of the chairs, watching. “You may feed yourself. I won't be doing that for you.”

It cawed loudly at him.

“Well I can't do everything, can I now.” Bilbo reached for a small towel to clean his hands with, and meanwhile he watched the raven. “Do you have a name, by chance? Or must I assign you one? I mean not to insult you, if you are in fact a raven from Erebor. Balin, and old friend of mine, once told me that ravens are quite strong willed and do not at all appreciated being treated as lesser. No dwarf nor hobbit would enjoy being given a name for someone's personal purposes, no? I know I wouldn't. Being called a burglar for seven months straight,” he muttered, moving through his kitchen to gather cutlery to set the table. “Ori even writes it in his letters. I am tempted to tell them! My name is not _burglar_ , it is Bilbo, yes, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire! Or, in dwarf tradition, Bilbo, son of Bungo! And I would – “

The raven interrupted him rudely by croaking, and fluttering his wings. Bilbo grimaced. The bird hopped closer and croaked again.

“That was not very kind of you,” Bilbo pointed out. The bird's sound was like a mutter. “Do you know... What was it again?” Bilbo began snapping his fingers. “Roäc, I believe. And there was another. Something about a chief of the ravens? Thorin told me this, and I should have remembered. Ah, bother. To think I wasn't being attentive! Now his information has gone to waste, what a shame!”

And it was, because for every shard of shared wisdom Thorin had given him, and he had forgotten, he was in return given a negative nip in his heart. Not even wisdom, even the smaller things Thorin had told him. Knowing they were forgotten was definitely something that sunk his spirit.

Bilbo looked up at the raven. “Roäc would be a suitable name. At least you could say it yourself. It's similar to the sound you make. Perhaps something like Ra? Would make quite a fine dwarf name too, if I say so myself. And a bit clever, too! Ra, short for Raven! Bilbo Baggins, you absolute genius!” he chirped happily.

And so, the bird was called Ra.

It felt out of place to name the raven, but if it was so determined on spending its few years with him, then so he should! He couldn't call it a raven all the time, he never enjoyed being called _hobbit_ either. He was more than just his race, was he not? And he was sure Ra was no different!

Even when Bilbo slept, Ra sat with him. Believe it or not, but affection was starting to blossom for Ra. Bilbo would smile as the bird nestled in a pile of Bilbo's clothes, snugging way in there so it would be warm and comfortable. To think he had a pet... It was not uncommon, and having birds wasn't, either – he knew many who had chickens as their pets! Why would a raven be any weirder? Chickens weren't nearly as clever as this bird was.

This proved to be the case when it started making different noises. Bilbo glanced up from his potatoes when he first heard the bird chatter randomly. “Ra. Ra. Ra.”

Bilbo smiled. “Very good,” he complimented. “That's you, indeed! Ra!”

“Ra.” It puffed itself up and wiggled on the spot. “Ra.”

“So you _are_ capable of speech, then? Because if so, perhaps we should try more.” Bilbo picked up a crumb of potato and held it up. Ra was eager to bounce on over, and eat it from between his fingers. Ra was clearly displeased, though did not complain. “Could you say my name? Bilbo. Bilbo.”

Ra cocked his head.

Smiling, he cut a small cube from his pork and held this between his fingers. When Ra tried to eat it, he withdrew and tutted. “No no, first you must try and speak. You will be rewarded for your efforts. Bilbo.” Ra croaked and hopped closer. Bilbo laughed. “No, not yet. Bilbo. _Bilbo_.”

But Ra was not entertained. He snatched the meat from Bilbo's fingers and flew off, disappearing around the corner.

Bilbo scowled. “Don't think you're going to get dessert after this!”

Goodness, he felt like a mother, scolding his child.

Ra returned when he was doing the dishes, but there was something about the features of the raven that made Bilbo think it was guilty. With its head bowed slightly, wings drawn tightly to its side, looking a bit more smaller and cropped up than usual.

And Bilbo could not stay mad. “Bilbo,” he said instead. Ra's head perked up. “Bilbo.”

“Ra. Ra. Raa-o. Ra-oo. Ro.”

The hobbit gasped. “Look at you! That was close, you are definitely learning!” He crouched down a bit with fascination. “Bilbo.”

“Ro.”

“I suppose that does deserve you a treat! And remember, the better it sounds, the better the reward.”

Ra began to fly suddenly, though very close to his face. Something Bilbo had yet to feel comfortable with. The wings nearly struck his face, so he made sure not to move. Any unexpected turn now and he might take a feather to the eye. But the bird knew very well what it was doing.

While Bilbo stood unmoving, the raven carefully settled to sit on his shoulder. He was remarkably heavy, and its claws did hurt his shoulders by the way they dug into it for support. That being said, it sat where it belonged, pushing its head against Bilbo's with a soft croak. Bilbo laughed with adore, incapable to keep up any facade any longer. “That's a good bird,” he cooed, brushing his forefinger against Ra's chest. It purred, pushing its chest forward and keeping his head up, so Bilbo could continue to pet him.

It was a lot for him to take in, but it went well. First he'd been terrified to move, afraid he might scare Ra into flying off, something that would make the bird panic and still slap him in the face. But no such thing happened. At first he inched, then he stepped, then he walked, and even when he tried to jump, see how far his boundaries were, Ra remained perfectly balanced on his shoulder, and quite happy, too! It continued to cry _Ro_ while he sat there, and would nibble on Bilbo's hair.

Just like that, Bilbo Baggins had found himself a new friend.

The next time he went to the market, Ra flew behind him, to much distress of all the other hobbits around him. “Mister Bilbo, look out!” one hobbit had warned him.

Bilbo shook his head, holding up his hand. “Never mind him, he is a friend! He would not harm any of you!”

This promise was redeemed shallowly by the others, but that was not his concern, wasn't it? Ra behaved perfectly well, and would only soar near to him.

“Oh my,” Dina told him when she met Bilbo again. “That is no crow indeed!”

Bilbo chuckled. “This is Ra, he'd be delighted to make your acquaintance!”

The girl shrugged. “Should I hold out me hand, let him shake it?”

“By all means!”

The girl hesitantly held up her hand.

Ra croaked at her. “Ra!”

It made the young hobbit girl smile, and gasp. “Hullo, Ra! My name is Dina!” And as if it knew what they were saying, it quieted down and bowed its head slightly. “What a cute little feller!” she cheered. “Where did you find him, might I ask, mister Bilbo.”

“He was the one that was bothering me, the one that had almost tempted me to buy one of your stunning scarecrows. But he has won my heart, in the end.”

“A bit queer, no?” she asked quietly. “Don't mean to be blunt, not at all, but it's...”

Bilbo shook his head at her. “No need, I understand you very well. And no insult taken, dear Dina. You are right, after all, a raven on your shoulder is nothing like any hobbit would ever do.” Dina nodded carefully. “But he is very loyal, and friendly. In some way, I do believe he understands me. He knew how to greet you, after all, which is quite something for a bird!”

Dina nodded at once. “Definitely, mister Bilbo! Me pig don't even walk when I push it!”

“My point exactly!” Ra suddenly croaked, and flew off. Bilbo had all the faith in the world that he would return. “Perhaps I could train him to scare away the crows that obstruct the harvest.”

“Oh that would be quite a treat, mister Bilbo,” she hummed. “We could use a sport like him!”

Bilbo drew his coin pouch from his pocket and pointed at one of the kales. “I'll take one of your biggest.” Dina picked the finest for Bilbo from the pile and exchanged it for a silver coin from the trolls.

“What be this, then?” she asked, moving the coin between her slender fingers. “It looks curious... Is it metal?”

“That is silver,” he said. “Worth about a hundred pieces of copper.”

“What!” she cried. “No, mister Bilbo, this is too charitable for a kale!”

“Keep it,” he said to her. Dina almost teared up. He could not say it out loud, but he was glad to give her a little extra for showing interest in his whereabouts, and not complain about Ra at first sight. He'd desperately needed a kind face...

On his own, Bilbo wandered the markets for fresh ingredients. He was just comparing some sized carrots when Ra came flying back, landing on his shoulder.

“Thief!!” he heard.

Bilbo turned his head and raised his brow. A hobbit man came running over to him. “Ro.”

“Hm?” Bilbo looked up at the raven, who held something shiny in his beak. “Oh – Ra, don't do that,” Bilbo muttered. He drew a piece of jewelery from his beak. “I'm very sorry, sir – “

“Did you train that bird to snatch our fine objects?!” the hobbit thundered. “This is a delicate matter, these gems are more precious than all that you own!”

Bilbo severely doubted it. He looked down at the small brooch. “Silver with sapphire,” he noted. The man held out his hand, so Bilbo quickly returned it. “My sincere apologies, this was not my intent. I did not order the bird to steal, it does that all by itself. And do not fret over my wealth, I'm quite rich, though I find little excitement in pieces as these. My friends might, though. Do you travel near Erebor at all?” The hobbit looked at him wide-eyed. “I will admit that's a bit far fetched... Ered Luin, perchance?”

The hobbit only grumbled at him before he walked off.

Bilbo poked Ra in his chest, earning him a frustrated croak. “Bad Ra,” he said loudly. “Don't steal.”

The raven pushed his head against Bilbo's temple. “Ro.”

“Not even as a present.” Even though he did adore the gesture. Safely said that stealing such a grand piece of jewelery was not the best choice. Perhaps something smaller, like another acorn!

He took Ra on his arm as they walked back up towards Bag End, and they chatted. It was a one-sided conversation, clearly, but Bilbo once again felt accompanied. He was no longer alone, and most importantly, he no longer felt lonely. This bird was like an actual friend, and the more time he spend with Ra, the more he started to realise how desperately he'd needed a friend... And how incredibly lucky he was to have one again.

 

* * *

 

“Welcome! Oh, welcome! Please do come in!”

He was yanked into several arms at once. “We missed you so much!” Dori exclaimed, squeezing the hobbit in his arms. Bilbo let out a choked laugh. Dori was the strongest of them all, and in the end, he always made that apparent by his crushing hugs. “It is so good to see you again, mister Bilbo!”

“Likewise, likewise, of course!” He waved the others in. Dwarf after dwarf invaded his home once more, and not by falling into his home, not while he stood in nothing but his bathrobe.

Every single one of them greeted him personally, to his utmost delight. The warmest, as ever, was Bifur's, who almost jumped once he held Bilbo in his arms. Bilbo hadn't spoken much with Bifur due to his injury, even after battle, so hearing him speak Westron to him made Bilbo's heart leap, and he had laughed so hard his voice had crackled because of disuse.

“Please, sit!” he told them, gesturing towards the kitchen. “You all know the way, be my guests!”

“Do ya have anything to eat?” Dwalin asked.

Bilbo held up his finger and hurried away to his jar of cookies. “I can make your dreams come true today, Dwalin! Oatmeal with chocolate, just like they were last time!”

“Where can I put my boots?” Ori asked him.

“Right down by the peg, though please – don't feel objected to keep them on! The floor is getting rather cold due to this weather.” He rubbed his hands together at the mention. It had been raining for three days straight, which he thought was lovely, but it meant that the sun hadn't shone for three days as well, meaning it'd cooled down rapidly. “Do whatever you must to feel at home! I even have some spare clothes, in case one of you is cold! I could dry your clothes, perhaps.”

Nori shook his head at him. “No need, we're used to it.” They all nodded and murmured in agreement.

“Did you redecorate?” Gloin asked.

“Aye, it looks different.”

“That it does!”

“I thought there was a basin over there.”

“Where did you put your armchair?”

Bilbo held up his hands. “Ho now, one at the time. I can only say so much. And yes, Gloin. I have told you already that upon my return, everything was taken from me. Now I have managed to gather and return much to its original owner, however, I did not manage to retrieve all of it...”

“A true shame!” Dori cried. “Perhaps we could be of your service, mister Bilbo!”

And that offer was answered with many cheers of agreement.

“Good heavens, no, you shouldn't. It has been over a year, after all, I am certain other hobbits are very happy with my furniture, as I am happy with what I have left, and what I have bought anew!” He sat down with his friends, at the large table. “Home used to be the most important thing to me, but once returned, I realised that it wasn't for me to begin with! How trapped I have felt the first weeks back here! I longed for the sight of woods and mountains for months, and I still do! The hills of the Shire do not compare to the peaks of the Misty Mountains, or the plains of Rhovannion!”

“I'm quite jealous,” Ori said softly. “I would love to live here. It is so green and colourful.”

Bofur pointed at Ori. “Aye, I agree! Not nearly as desolated as the fields of Erebor!”

Bilbo held his hands together, and smiled. “I am so glad to see all of you again. Though where is Balin?” Bilbo began to have a good look around. They were one dwarf short. “Where is he?”

“He will come later,” Dwalin explained. “He's more busy than the load of us, and works with Dain best he may. A bit like with Thorin, he was his advisor and partner in crime.” They all laughed. “He'll be here in less than a week, no doubt.”

“That is good, it would be a shame for him not to come and visit! I even bought him that cheese he liked so very much! Now, how is Dain faring? Is he doing well?”

There fell a short silence.

Oin was the one to speak up. “Dain, yes, of course, he is a very noble man, and though a bit impulsive at times, he is very strong and great at heart!” They all nodded. “A fine king to Erebor!”

Bilbo raised his brow, and cocked his head. “But?”

“But,” he continued, “even after all these years, it's a bit difficult for us.”

“Ah.” Bilbo felt his throat slip shut, so he quickly scraped it, and coughed into his fist briefly to open his airway again. “Yes, yes – I see.”

“But Erebor prospers,” Bombur said. “No doubt about that!”

“I am glad to hear. I'm sure Dain would do right by Thorin's wishes.” Bilbo smiled in spite of himself and got up. “I feel like we are in dire need of a drink! How about you help me prepare a fine meal?”

Cheer swooped back into the chamber, and no more than a minute later, they were singing and dancing while gathering food, emptying Bilbo's pantry once more. However, they were more restrained this time around, not taking _everything_ he owned. And when Bilbo asked to please not touch something, they wouldn't, which wasn't the name of the game the previous time they all visited.

While they all ate, Bilbo moved over to his bedroom. Ra sat there, on the table, asleep. “Ra,” he whispered. He brushed his hand through Ra's feathers. The bird's head snapped up and he croaked. “It's alright, it's me,” Bilbo soothed. “The others are here. My friends. Come, I'm sure they would love to see you. Perhaps they can tell me a bit more about you.” Bilbo held out his arm. As trained as Ra was, he flew up at once to sit on Bilbo's forearm.

Bifur was the one to look up. “A raven!” he almost cried.

Everybody shifted his attention then, looking at the bird settled on Bilbo's arm. Ra screeched at seeing the others, jumping from Bilbo's arm and flying all around them. Bilbo laughed with joy seeing Ra so very excited. “This is Ra, the raven I told you about, Ori.”

“You have adopted it?” Ori asked.

Bilbo sat himself back down. “So I have! Ra would not leave me alone so I took him in! He has been my dearest friend in the Shire ever since!”

“Ra?” Dwalin asked loudly. “That's his name?”

“Yes, I needed something easy for him to say. He does not seem to speak at all, so I wanted to start simple.”

Ra cawed before he settled on Dwalin's shoulder. It made the old warrior wince. Bilbo did hope Ra's nails were not too sharp for him, though he reckoned his flesh was much more tender than Dwalin's. “Hello there, lad,” Dwalin murmured. He picked up something from his plate and let Ra gobble it up.

“He's from Erebor,” Oin noted. “No doubt about it.”

“A newborn, it seems. He is very young,” Nori said. “Dark, short feathers.”

“Though he carries a greater weight,” Dwalin remarked quietly.

Bilbo nodded. “I have found the same. I believe Ra is an old soul, but he is still very happy, and enlightened to do things together with me! Especially going out to the market, he seems to enjoy that the most!”

All of them were equally captivated by Bilbo's new, feathery pal, and their roaring laughter had quited down to curious mutters, as though they might scare Ra off.

Dwalin, who still had Ra on his shoulder, said something in his own language. Bilbo raised his brow and watched Ra, who cocked his head at the sound. He pushed up his tail and croaked in response of Dwalin's whispers. However, the dwarf shook his head. “He does not speak,” he told Bilbo. “At least, not in Khuzdul. Young ones often don't.”

“How young might he be?” Bilbo asked.

“Hm...” Dwalin used his big finger to push at the underside of its head, studying him closely. “About a year or so.”

“A year? That's already rather old then, I reckon.”

“Old? They can grow to be older than you,” Dwalin said with an amused snort. “Ah, they are beautiful creatures... Try an' teach him how to speak.”

“This, I will!” Bilbo told them. “Next time you come by, he will have much more to tell!”

Dinner went on as before, though now Ra was fed left and right by other dwarves, who were happy to see a piece of home back with them.

Bilbo showed them all to their rooms, where the dwarves unpacked. They could stay for about a week, Bilbo had said, and if they wanted to stay longer that was fine, provided that they would clean after themselves more properly, and live the hobbit life, fetching their own food and cleaning their own clothes.

Many of them were asleep, though Bilbo found himself sitting with Oin by the flickering hearth. Bilbo had wound himself in a fleece blanket, bundled up on his chair with some tea in his hands, while Oin shared the most glorious tales of Erebor of old, before the wrath and ruin, and Ra sat on Oin's lap, allowing himself to be stroked and petted by Oin. “Ravenhill used to be full of them! There would be ravens flying around, and I would spend a lot of time with them! I used to teach them how to say more basic things in Westron, such as that a letter has been sent, and by whom! They'd carry a scroll in their claws at times, if they could not whisper yet!”

Bilbo looked at Ra. The bird had settled, gone from a stoic, proud animal to a lumpy heap of feathers. Ra had gotten plump since he arrived here... “Do you think I could teach Ra, then? To speak, and all that.”

“Oh, aye, that should be no problem! Though it will take effort! Ravens do not speak like us, they have no lips so they cannot utter certain sounds! You'll have to find a compromise. Khuzdul always worked well with ravens, it is more tonal and the sounds are hard and clear. Westron is not quite like that, the language is more like... an effortless slur of words. A string of them sounds like a hush in the wind!”

“I am certain we can make something work, him and I.”

Oin smoothed his hand over Ra's back. “He is very tame,” Oin said. “Usually they are not like this. It's very uncharacteristic.”

“Oh?” Bilbo held his cup a bit tighter. “What should have been expected?”

“They ain't animals to sit on your lap, by all means. They're birds, and restless ones at that! I never thought they had the heart to settle down like this, though don't get me wrong, mister hobbit, I see no danger in this.” Oin smiled. “I believe this is rather adorable, don't you think?”

“Ah yes, quite. I do think so too.”

Oin brushed his large thumb over the head of the raven. “To be gifted with a raven is no mere thing,” Oin then said. “Very few are...”

“Ori wrote me that members of the royal family are.”

“And he ain't mistaken! For dwarves, it is a custom to carry an animal of name upon yourself. This is why Dain came on his boar and why Thorin had a raven. His siblings and fathers had, too. A bond between dwarf and raven is sacred. Thorin was very fond of his.”

Bilbo almost dared not ask. “What happened to it?”

Oin shook his head with a sigh. “We do not know. He send it out to give a message and it did not return. Taken, killed or perished yet remains a secret. It was very upsetting, you might imagine. He even had a second, at some point. Right after the battle by Moria he was met with a second raven, that is said flew all the way from Erebor to meet him in Eregion, as this wee fellow has!”

“I do like the idea, that ravens attach so closely to the dwarves,” Bilbo said. “I do not believe hobbits have anything similar. Not with animals, at least. We bond with our vegetables in our gardens more than we do with the cattle out there.”

Oin laughed kindheartedly at that. “Ah, yes, the ravens of Erebor are of special breed. In fact...” Oin leaned closer, which made Bilbo raise his brow and lean in as well. “Rumor goes that ravens carry the souls of our old ones.”

“Oh?” Bilbo whispered.

“After the attack of Smaug, we were met with many ravens suddenly, just like after the battle of Azanulbizar! We did not know where they came from at all, having thought all the ravens had fled when Smaug came. We also believed they were all burned when Smaug did attack Erebor. And yet... more kept on coming,” Oin hummed, looking down at Ra. “We have seen the ravens return to the mountain after Smaug fell... Since then, their numbers have gone up by at least five times their amount! Some proved to be particularly clingy towards one person.”

Bilbo looked at Ra with a fluttering heart.

“But this is clearly just fairy tales,” Oin broke the silence with, though he sounded a bit too mirthful. “It ain't actually so, but it's nice to think that, isn't it?”

“Y – Yes,” he stammered, his eyes fixated on the raven, who was sleeping on Oin's lap. “Yes, I – I do think so, yes...”

Oin wasn't happy at all that he had to wake Ra in order to move, but Bilbo was happy to take him. Bilbo had Ra in his hands then, and studied his eyes carefully. Honestly he did not see much in their blackness void, aside from the shimmer of fire that was being reflected. Ra croaked at him. “Ro.”

Sniffing, he set Ra down on the empty, warm chair Oin had been sitting on. “Good night,” he said to Ra.

Bilbo did not share his room. He sat in there alone, pondering, his fingers on his lips in deep thought. The story Oin had told felt a bit nightmarish to him at the moment, as though he'd been told a very creepy story of dragons or giant, pale orcs. Perhaps it was not scary, it was plain unsettling to him. Especially when Ra flew into his room a moment later, nestling where he always did, in the small bed Bilbo had made for him.

The hobbit lay on his back on the bed, hands on his belly, eyes at the ceiling. He did not sleep well that night. The story had wedged something loose in his heart, and while he was still very much disturbed, he found to be more upset by the fact that he _wished_ it were so... If only a soul could be captured by a raven, and he would meet through them his old, passed friends... But it was time to acknowledge, finally, that they would never come back to him. They were gone. They were dead.

But accepting such a fact is hard... and Bilbo, unfortunately, did not manage that night.


	4. Full of heart

“Wo. Wo.”

“Yes yes, in a minute!”

“Wo.” Ra flapped his wings impatiently. “Wo!”

Bilbo grumbled and hurried to the front door, where Ra stood, hopping before it. He pushed open the door so that Ra could get out. He always needed his daily dose of flying around, lose some energy. And every time he needed this exercise, he would scream until Bilbo let him out. Ra wasn't a very patient bird... At least not in this aspect.

In his underclothes and an untied robe he moved about. The others were still asleep, which did not surprise him. They always slept late. Apparently this had something to do with them being used to darkness so not being so easily influenced by it like hobbits were, who would yawn the second the sun had set. Neither would they wake up at the touch of the morning light on their skins.

But Bilbo found this agreeable. In fact, it meant he had a moment of peace and quiet in the morning, which was _very_ much appreciated.

In the dawn of the morning, Bilbo set everything ready for a luscious breakfast. Loads of bread and biscuits, toppings like cheese and several meats, fresh juices, fruit, and according to dwarven traditions, beans and eggs to go with. He'd never had beans for breakfast before, but who was he to judge!

The hobbit seated himself outside on his small bench, watching Ra fly over Hobbiton in large circles. Slowly dwarves accompanied him, one by one, dressed, hairs and beards combed and braided – although not all of them. Dori and Ori settled down in the grass not far from his feet, where Ori helped his older brother braid his complicated beard into his usual, flawless masterpiece. Bofur sat down beside him with his pipe in hand and a plate of freshly boiled eggs as well as some tarts with cheese, Gloin stood by the fence, his hands on his back as he tried to pinpoint the value of the village in coin, and Bifur soon sat on top of Bilbo's house, above his round door, guarding the house like a hawk.

And so it was that every hobbit in the Shire was that morning greeted by what one could only compare to a classic painting of the days of yore, right up on the hill.

Ra came sailing down not much later and attacked Bifur, who laughed merrily, his legs kicking as the raven flew around him, and even nestled in his mess of a hair.

Bofur snorted. “Easy, cousin, ya might injure it!” Bofur shook his head, the flaps of his hat dancing along. “Looks like Ra's part of the family as much as you are, Bilbo!”

Bilbo hummed as he was patted on his back in a most friendly manner. “I suppose you are right, Bofur. He seems to take quite a liking in you all. Perhaps because you are all dwarves, and since the ravens of Erebor are animals of the dwarves, well... one can only assume they are more at ease with you lot, rather than us hobbits!”

“I would not say that,” Bofur said, only a moment before Ra landed on Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo cooed and started scratching his chest again the way Ra liked so much. Matter of fact, Ra started purring instantly. “He's very fond of you too, Bilbo!”

And he of him, Bilbo thought with a smile. Undoubtedly.

Even though he had asked for the dwarves to keep a low profile, a whole group of them went to the market today. They'd been here for two days already so they were about done sniffing Bag End's air for a second longer. Bilbo, on the other hand, did not go. He wished to clean his house while it was empty. Ra too stayed with him, and to Bilbo's absolute joy, when he was busy sweeping and dusting, Ra would use his wings to blow dust off certain high shelves, cackling proudly when Bilbo clapped at him, and complimented him.

Bombur and Dwalin ended up being the last two to remain in Bag End with Bilbo and Ra, the others had gone to explore. Though he had missed them terribly, having his home removed from so many dwarves was a welcome change, if only for short.

“Ya should call him something different,” Dwalin said. Bilbo looked up from where he was cleaning. “Something more heroic... like Thunder!”

“Thunder?” Bilbo breathed. “I will not call him _Thunder_ , Dwalin, that is absurd.”

“The name Ra is far too little for such a dignified creature!”

“Well, he can say his name, can he not? I found that to have priority over how wicked he would sound to you bloody lot.”

Dwalin tapped his fingers on the table. “Dagger.”

“No.”

“Boulder!”

“No,” Bilbo said with an enchanted laugh. “Dwalin, those names are horrendous. I will not call him such names. If anything, I would prefer to call him something a bit more... I don't know, something that suits his majestic nature better.”

“This bird ain't majestic. Nothin' about it is.” Dwalin poked Ra hard in his chest. It stumbled off Dwalin's arm, and screeched angrily as it flapped its wings with dismay. Bilbo laughed at the panicky mess of a bird he was showcased with. “See, very – oi!” Dwalin withdrew his hand swiftly after Ra had bitten it. “Ya shard of rock!”

Bilbo shook his head. “You shouldn't upset him, he has a temper.” Ra flew over to Bilbo, sitting on his shoulder instead. “He is quick to anger.”

Dwalin harrumphed, sitting back in his chair with his arms tightly folded.

Ra flew away, so Bilbo smiled. Oh, what a feast to have the dwarves back! Especially with Ra there! He hadn't enjoyed himself this much since he left Erebor. Not to say he enjoyed the aftermath of the battle, or... well, the week before that. Perhaps the best he'd felt since Lake Town! There were still good tidings there, although... this too could be argued about.

He and Bombur were cooking together in the kitchen. Bombur was an excellent chef, though not that great a teacher, Bilbo found, when Bombur would get so caught up in his cooking he forgot to explain his work and process. Dwalin was still sitting behind them, cleaning his nails with one of his blades. Bilbo recognised those. They were Fili's, once. He wondered how many other things the other dwarves had inherited.

Dwalin seemed to have caught his gaze, and the bald warrior smiled at him. “Have ye got your mementos around here too?”

“I do, they are scattered around. You will find Sting, for instance, in the living room. My own sword. Or letter opener, as Balin had once told me! A lot still remains in a chest, I have yet to find a place for it that... well, that puts those items to justice. I have not found those yet.”

“Perhaps because the items are too precious,” Dwalin said. That made Bilbo bow his head. Of course Dwalin was right. “I actually brought something. A lot of us have, ya might like those items.”

Bombur, who had been so very hypnotized by his work, was easily snapped out of it by Dwalin's comment, and hushed him at once. “We weren't supposed to say until we would leave,” Bombur said.

“So what, do we want to overwhelm him instead by bombing him with gifts and goodies? It'll do him more harm than good, we'll fluster him entirely.”

“Um. I'm still here,” Bilbo said, holding up his fingers. Bombur and Dwalin looked at him. “May he speak for himself, by any chance?”

Bombur nodded at him. “We're sorry, Bilbo! Please.”

“Besides, I care about this whole ordeal less than I do my jamsacks,” he muttered, pushing himself up from his seat.

The three of them sat by the table a bit later, with Ra on Bilbo's shoulder.

Fundin's son was the first to hand him his gift. Bilbo made sure not to have any expectations, even though he did have some very particular wishes on what he would like, and hope, to receive. But no, he told himself sternly, he shouldn't do that, else the greatest gifts could disappoint! So with a smile he unwrapped a pair of axes, and it had him chuckle. “They're miniatures of my own, wee babies!” Dwalin uttered proudly. “Umraz and Ukhlat!”

“Oh, Dwalin,” he breathed, “these are so very refined... Did you craft these yourself?”

“Course!” he beamed.

Bilbo's fingers slid over the intricate runes on the iron. He wasn't yet sure what to use these for, but he found that they would already serve their purpose if they hang above his mantle, for instance, or near his bed. He might actually injure a thief with them, might one decide to show up in his hole at night!

While Bilbo was watching, Dwalin grew a weaker, wry smile. “These are just a formality,” he said. Bilbo glanced back up at him. “Cause I like to brag.”

“That I know,” Bilbo laughed.

Dwalin drew another pack onto the table and moved it closer. “This might be more up yer alley. Or, rather, something ya might've wished to receive, other than my precious axes.”

A bit nervously Bilbo started to unpack his gift. Ra hopped down onto the table, as though he too was bubbling with curiosity. The second gift revealed to be a small pillow, more like a cushion. “Oh,” Bilbo said, somewhat taken aback by this surprise. Not that he minded receiving a pillow, he only wondered if maybe Dwalin had misjudged Bilbo's wishes a bit. But no, that would be _very_ ungrateful! “This is wonderful!” Bilbo said sincerely. “Thank you.”

Dwalin pointed at it. “I had it made. I canna sew.”

“Evidently.”

His friend leaned on the table now, but there was more hiding behind his dimpled smile. “It was very hard for me to do. For many,” Dwalin admitted. “But I trust ya well enough to know it's in good hands.”

“You...” Bilbo squeezed the pillow, his face strung with a certain disgust. “You did not fill this with your own hair, did you?”

Bombur and Dwalin burst out laughing.

“Na, na,” Dwalin assured him. He reached out, tapping his finger onto the fabric. Bilbo took another good, hard look at it. The fabric was dark, stained and a bit leathery, not at all neat or new, the fur on the edges was rugged and coarse, and it –

Bilbo's lungs beat a quiet breath from his lips, and he gripped the pillow tighter. “Wait,” he whispered. “Wait, you...”

“Thranduil returned it to us,” Dwalin said. “Took us one day, plucking the cobwebs from it.” Bilbo's fingers trembled around the pillow, and his eyes stung. “Rinsed it, washed it, though very carefully, in order not to do it any more harm. The fabric was quite traumatised, you must understand.”

The dwarf was right. The fabric was still incredibly filthy, stained with mud and murky waters, it was wrinkled, frayed, almost... but he recognised it.

This was made from Thorin's old coat. One he has worn almost the entire journey.

The sight of this particular jacket has meant many things to him throughout the lengthy journey. At first, seeing the coat approach meant dread, and authority. He would often feel belittled, looked down upon, and when it swept past him, he would be nudged away, and not always so politely! But as the journey went on, the sight became more familiar, more homely, until it was a sight to look forward to.

And when Bilbo pressed the fur edge against his face, it felt just like when he was buried in it in his first, and last embracement with Thorin.

Bilbo almost wept tears with joy and memory, and when Ra pushed his head against it, he only began to feel better.

He'd been given _exactly_ what the had been hoping to receive... A piece of Thorin.

The other dwarves returned while Bilbo was still emotional, and their plans shifted. They all bore gifts a moment later. In fact, they all had two! One of their own craft, and one that bore resemblance to the quest, or were pieces of his lost friends. Apparently the elven king had returned many of their belongings after Dain had struck a treaty, and the company had been quick to collect Fili, Kili and Thorin's items.

The most outstanding things were given to him. Bifur had crafted him a small dwarf toy from the string of Kili's bow. From Fili's hair and beard beads, Nori had fashioned a simple dish, for perhaps a cup of tea! The strap of Orcrist's sheath had been re-sized and re-worked to fit Bilbo perfectly, and was quite respectable at that, having been removed from its large, prominent clip. Bombur had given him a cookbook with recipes that Ori had written, recipes that were the _Royal's Favourites_ , filled with whatever food Fili, Kili and Thorin liked best. They were even catagorised and altered a bit, so they could be made with more common ingredients, that could be found right here, in the Shire! Who would've believed Thorin had such a sweet tooth, he thought with a broad smile.

But to him, his most treasured gifts were the three pipes. Thorin and Kili their pipes were in quite a reasonable state, only Fili's was damaged almost beyond repair, Gloin had pointed out, but nothing a dwarf couldn't fix! They had found it somewhere on the riverbanks of the River Running, beyond the borders of Mirkwood, where they had clambered and dragged themselves out of barrels on Bilbo's birthday.

He was just admiring the fine wood work of Thorin's pipe when Ra snatched it from his hands with his large claws. “Ra!” Bilbo called out. Ra flew away with it and lay it down somewhere else. “Ra, bring that back!” Bilbo scolded.

The others laughed. “I donna think he understands yet,” Oin said.

Bilbo shook his head, huffing. That did not matter, he didn't mean for one of their pipes to break. “Ra, I am serious!” he demanded. The raven croaked, pushing its blunt beak into the pipe. When drawn out, it was a bit blackish with ash. It only made the others laugh again. Bilbo too couldn't repress a smile.

Once it had pecked at the pipe a couple more times, or rather, inside it, he simply brought it back. “Wo,” he cawed, and flew to settle on the cushion of Thorin's old coat.

The evening of this day was more quiet. Bilbo was a bit more at peace, however, with more things to call his own that belonged to his three friends. And he already knew he would cherish these objects beyond measure. Call it unhealthy, perhaps, but Bilbo Baggins was more than put to rest by having these small things. Not entirely, but that would take more time. At least he could say that, in a way... he was starting to work through his grief, and see a faint light at the end of a tunnel he thought to be ongoing for eternity.

No. There was hope. He would not forget, but he would change. The world would change. And where he lost three friends, he'd at least been given one in return, he thought, when he looked at Ra. His bird had found his new spot on Thorin's cushion, and when Bilbo would look at him, his gaze would be returned with a soft, though comforting croak.

In a way, things couldn't be better than they already were. The moment Bilbo embraced this thought, he found himself asleep in his armchair, by the fire, crooned to sleep by humming dwarves, and a purring raven.

 

* * *

 

 Saying goodbye to his friends was rough. Very rough. Something that should've been expected!

The house was empty once more after Bilbo had waved them into the distance. Agree to disagree, but he thought having nine guests over at once was a very good remedy to loneliness, and helped calm his nerves, even if this was temporary.

But now they were gone. The worst thing yet wasn't nearly as bitter as the departure of his friends.

It was the departure of Ra.

Bilbo stood alone in his living room, sighing rather than breathing, his hands on his back and large feet kicking the floor aimlessly in thought. Ra had flown with the others, moving all around them, so very excited.

Yes, Bilbo had told himself, it was for the better. After all, would a raven not belong with its own kind?

But it was much more sour because Bilbo found that he was beating himself up. “Ra found them more pleasant to be around,” he was muttering when he was making himself food later that day. “And how could he not! They are such merry company. What can a hobbit bring to the table other than food that ravens cannot eat... Oh Bilbo Baggins, you oblivious idiot...”

Was it strange to care more about the raven than he did about the dwarves?

That evening, Bilbo sat silently whimpering in his chair. He has already lost so much, and that all in such a short amount of time, too. Going back to his old life had not been impossible. It had been improbable, though. To him, at least. Gandalf's words had spoken true. Yes, he had returned safely, but not nearly as the same hobbit he once was. Nowhere _near_. I mean, look at the poor fellow, weeping in his armchair over the loss of a bird! The old Bilbo Baggins would never have, but this wasn't him. This was a changed man, but changed for the better, mind you.

Coping with this was very hard for Bilbo, but he was caught in tears once more when he realised he did not have to, for Ra had fetched him something again.

This time it was his old friend Balin, who carried Ra on his shoulder.

“Oh, I thought you would not return to me,” Bilbo admitted with tremendous relief. Ra flew at him and settled on his arm, so Bilbo could hug him.

Balin chuckled. “Now, Bilbo, come. Dry your tears, there is nothing to be upset about! Let us go inside!”

The two of them seated themselves in the kitchen, where Bilbo poured Balin a cup of tea, and prepared Ra a small piece of meat. “I'm so very sorry, Balin, to have greeted you as such,” Bilbo eventually said. “I did not expect Ra to come back.”

“So, he _is_ yours?” Balin asked. Bilbo found an odd sensation of affection when he nodded to confirm this question. “The others told me. I met them a bit down the road, near the village of Stock. I am sure you are familiar with this town.”

“Yes, yes, quite a splendor, Stock!” He sniffed as he set the kettle with fresh herbs down. “My mother used to celebrate her birthday parties there. Only the larger numbers, clearly.”

Balin smiled at him. “They brought with them your raven. Ra, you said?” Bilbo nodded again. “It was quite determined to go back home, I can tell you that much. Picked me up by my beard and flew to speed up my pace,” the old dwarf laughed.

“Oh, Ra,” Bilbo breathed silently, brushing his finger through his densely packed feathers. “That is very impolite of you...” Ra croaked at him. “Mm. Yes it is.”

“Did he get along well with the others? I have never held such a cuddly raven on my shoulder before.”

Bilbo smiled. “Why yes, he especially enjoyed being with Dwalin! And Yavanna knows why, because Dwalin could be very curt and outright mean to him. Poking him and tossing him. Though in a way, Ra almost looked to be enjoying it, I think!”

“That is quite funny that you mention, Ra was seated on Dwalin's arm before he flew at me. You did not take him from Erebor, have you?”

He shook his head and sat down with Balin at the table. Ra took his own spot then, on a third chair, as though to join their conversation. “I couldn't have! His age has been estimated to about a year or so ago, when I left Erebor to go back to the Shire. He must not have hatched yet when I left. Not to forget I know little of ravens and would not have taken one home, they are not for me! Not for any Baggins, mind you!”

“And yet,” Balin hummed, though he smiled from ear to ear. He even cocked his head a bit, something he would do more often if he knew more. If he understood Bilbo's feelings better than Bilbo did them himself. “I am very happy for you, Bilbo, and I mean this. It must've been hard for you to come back home here... Right after such a great battle, no less.”

“Indeed, that was a rough change of nature, but I endure. Ra has helped me. The days I spend without him, these last three days, they were... well, they were fairly uncomfortable, and very lonely.”

“Then it is good that he has returned to you!” Balin raised his cup of tea at that, so with a smile, Bilbo returned the gesture. Ra cackled and drew up his wings, making them both chuckle.

What began as a civil cup of tea ended in downing ale, with Ra pulling meat right from the bone, and Balin talking about Dain as king, and other whereabouts of Erebor, and its riches. Bilbo was quite aesthetic hearing that most of the gold was actually being taken care of. A little less than half has been stored away safely so no one could roam about and catch a nasty disease, handfuls have been shared evenly across allies, loads had been invested in rebuilding Erebor, wheelbarrows have been given to Dale so they too could be rebuild, and even then, Balin said, they were far too wealthy with all that was vaulted, and then some.

And with that news came a small surprise. Another small pouch of gold. Bilbo took it without much fuss, being a little tipsy himself...

Ra was actually the one to knock over his fifth mug of ale. Bilbo had cussed and cursed, but Ra cawed at him, keeping Bilbo away from taking another swig. Though now that the hobbit was a bit beyond tipsy – let's call it _drunk –_ he put no effort in fighting the bird. Instead he let Ra clutch onto his hair and drag him along through the hobbit hole, towards his bed.

Bilbo had long fallen asleep after having plopped down on the mattress, and was not awake to feel a blanket being dragged over him. Ra had croaked, nudged his beak against Bilbo's nose, and had flown off to accompany Balin, who wasn't _nearly_ as far gone as Bilbo had been, though one could be assured that the dwarf's vision had long gone swimming.

In the morning, bearing a head crammed with stones, the hobbit shuffled through his home. Ra was hopping before the door already. “Iwo. Iwo.”

“Mm...” Bilbo dragged open the green door to a very solemn, lackluster sky.

“Good morning, Bilbo!”

Caught off guard, Bilbo turned his head to see Balin seated in his kitchen, crunching away some toasted bread. “Ah, good morning, Balin,” he said with a yawn.

“Come, sit.” Balin patted on the empty chair beside him. “I have some banana for you here, helps soothe the hangover.”

“I was not that drunk,” he bargained, almost falling down into his chair.

“Not that drunk?” Balin started, but Bilbo held up his hand and moaned with displease. He's heard _several_ of these jokes from his friends along the journey and he was about sick of them. Balin seemed to know very well and smiled. “I'm inclined to tell you, Bilbo, that bird of yours... He's quite special, that one. Not at all like any raven I've ever encountered.”

Bilbo reached for some toast and butter. “I have been told as much. Not that I would know what ravens are like on a daily basis.”

“I have seen many in my days. Ravens are rather solitary animals. At least, the ravens of Erebor are. They travel far and long, unaccompanied. Their purpose is not to be together, it is to be alone and deliver, as well as return messages to their kings. These are bred... maybe specifically for Thror's good use. Now the birds have evolved since Erebor fell, I will say that much. When I visited Ravenhill later, after the ravens had returned, many were already brooding and refused to be separated from one another. Many have forgotten their speech as well, as has this one, I reckon.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Oh no, I have been told that this is because he is too young.”

“Hm. And he had no owner yet?”

“I wouldn't know. I think not.”

Balin chuckled at him. “Worry not, laddie, that isn't anything unusual. Not all ravens have a soul mate. There are few, actually, that bond the way Ra does to you.”

But indeed, Bilbo only took this as a blessing!

Having only Balin over was very lovely. After housing the feasting men over for a long time, now having someone he could quietly talk to was a very wonderful change of pace. He would take Balin out into the fields and stroll around the markets, with Ra sharing his attention equally over Balin and Bilbo both. The three of them sat in the Green Dragon, and while hobbits had been very skeptical about his previous company, they did not mind Balin. In fact, no more than twenty minutes later, Balin had two hobbit children settled on his thigh, and a whole group had gathered around them, wanting to hear more of his stories.

Meanwhile Bilbo would listen along. Ra was nestled in his arms like a soft ball of fur, a bit like a pet would, and was more than content being where he was.

Of all the birds Bilbo has ever met, Ra was the least bothersome! Though don't ask him now, because Bilbo was beyond annoyed to be awoken by his screeches in the middle of the night.

They were so loud, so sincere, that Bilbo was up in the instant. Not happily, you can imagine, but there was more to the shrill sound of the raven's shriek. It was so very urgent that, setting aside the fact that he was drowsy with sleep, he defied to neglect it.

Bilbo hurried through his home, growing ever more worried by the sounds Ra made. With his ears he followed the sound, and with his eyes he followed a _very_ bright light that lit up his home without the need of candles.

At the end of the noise he found his living room brightly lit with fire. Bilbo gasped shrilly, body going rigid in the instant due to shock. Ra was tossing himself at the fire while screaming, almost as if he was trying hard to douse it, but of course it was of no use! The fire had spread well beyond the hearth and was climbing up his walls. “Out of the way!” Balin suddenly shouted.

He did, but not to follow the given command. While Balin threw a bucket full of water at the fire, Bilbo was running to pump full another. This could not be happening – not Bag End! Yes, it might be underground, but it was all made of wood and would burn like cotton!

One after the other they ran from the pump to the living room, throwing water wherever they could. Bilbo even had to throw some at Ra when one of his wings caught fire. But the fire was slowly suffocating, until there was nothing left but a sodden chamber, dripping wood, and a huge, black mark on the walls and on the ceiling.

“Are you hurt, laddie?” Balin quickly asked, holding Bilbo's shoulder.

The small hobbit was panting, feeling a bit low on air. He never did well around fire and smoke. “I hope nothing valuable has gone to waste,” he said. He moved over to the hearth and looked around. Only then, as he was inspecting the damage, his ear twitched. No due to noise, but... the sheer lack of it. “Where is Ra?”

Balin began to look around as well.

“Ra? Ra!” Bilbo got onto his feet. “Please no. No – he _cannot_ have burned! Ra!”

As frenzied as a hobbit could be, Bilbo Baggins hurried through the chamber, looking left and right, even into the fire in case he would find Ra in the hearth.

But it was luckily not so.

Bless his beard, as the dwarves would say, because he heard a faint croak. Bilbo found Ra tucked away in a corner, underneath his desk, somewhere dark and hidden.

“Come,” Bilbo said soothingly. He held open his arms. The bird croaked weakly at him, so Bilbo tried to grin, gesturing him closer. “It's quite alright...” Ra hopped towards him very slowly before he was in Bilbo's hands, and he could draw him from underneath the table. The bird was heavy in hand, but that was because it had lost much of its strength. It lay in his hands like a sack of flour, and one wing was drooping. “Oh dear, oh dear,” Bilbo mumbled anxiously. When Balin moved over and touched the wing, Ra cawed loudly in protest. “Stop – you are hurting him.”

Balin sighed. “That needs to rest, I think. It might be broken.”

“I – I should go and get a healer, or one for animals? Do those exist? Surely they must but I don't know anyone, would you happen to know a hobbit who knows about ravens? Or birds in general?”

The old dwarf held his shoulder, meeting his eyes with an urgent, sharp look about them. “Your house was just on fire, Bilbo... Take a moment–“

“No, _no_ , Ra is injured,” he said, and he was moving to the kitchen next. “Could you fetch me Thorin's pillow? It's on the couch.”

“It's drenched.”

“That does not matter, I want him somewhere soft and comfortable.” Bilbo cradled Ra in his arms, where the bird was silent and withdrawn, which was new to him, and therefor very worrisome!

On the middle of his wooden table he lay the pillow, with Ra on it. His friend did not chatter, did not even move. He lay perfectly still, with one wing drawn tightly against his body, whereas the other hang limply over the edge. As the hobbit moved, he hushed the bird, hoping to somehow ease its burdens.

Balin provided him with some candlelight while Bilbo tried to inspect Ra's wing. The bird whined and croaked, yet there was no movement in his loose, right wing. It'd need bandaging, so it could heal. “I'm afraid you won't be able to fly for a little while,” Bilbo told Ra, tenderly stroking his fingers over its back. “You'll have to sit this one out. But I will look after you, so you mustn't worry!”

Together they wound Ra in bandages until they enveloped his body and his wing. Ra, on the other hand, lay perfectly still, and would only wince if they moved him wrong.

“This ought to do the trick, laddie,” Balin said. “He will be well.”

“I cannot believe I let this happen. How did the house catch fire?”

Balin sighed deeply. “That might have been me, I fear, for I left my boots near to the fire. An ember might've caught them... I am very sorry, Bilbo.”

“Nonsense. Even if you set my house on fire willingly I would not be angry with you, Balin,” Bilbo said. They exchanged very heartfelt smiles. “Accidents happen, do they not? I was only worried it might've been of my own making, which I would find to be worse! I'll do damage control in a little bit. Do you think Ra is well?”

“Does he look pale?”

Bilbo scowled, but couldn't help a chuckle.

Balin laughed at him and got up. “I will go and see. You look after Ra.”

Slowly Bilbo seated himself at the table, his eyes fixated on the raven. His eyes were still open but they looked a bit drowsy. “No wonder,” Bilbo murmured at him, his finger scratching weakly at the underside of Ra's beak and chin. “Throwing yourself at the wall like that... You are very brave, but very foolish...” Bilbo smiled. “Reminds me of someone else I used to know... Caught fire too, once. Horrible business, is it not?” He tenderly shifted Ra on the pillow, hoping he would be more comfortable.

The night went on and did not get any easier. He'd lost several of his things to the fire. They weren't _all_ burned to a crisp, but his fine rug had been, one he was actually very fond of. But it mattered not, Bilbo knew, all furniture could be replaced. The memory was not gone.

Instead, he spend his time with Ra in his arms, sitting on his own bed and holding him close. The bird had snuggled into his warmth, head buried against Bilbo's chest and stomach. Bilbo almost thought Ra was hiding. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, you brave little beast,” Bilbo said to him, his voice soft like a mother's, and praising like a father's.

Balin came into his room when it was close to morning, and Bilbo Baggins still sat on his bed, wide-awake. Balin raised his brow and moved over. “Have you slept?” he asked.

“No.” Bilbo sounded hoarse. “I can't lose someone else again, Balin, I _can't_.”

Listening to Bilbo's voice being broken, Balin moved over and sat with Bilbo on the bed, taking him into his arms and gathering Bilbo against his side like Bilbo had done with Ra. “He is still here, with us,” Balin said, though his words held little significance, and they were spoken as though Balin did not believe them himself.

But he was not wrong. Ra was still with them, and thankfully so. That was what Bilbo was thinking of. Balin, on the other hand, was thinking of someone else.

And yet... he was still not mistaken.


	5. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fly already!”

“No!”

“You can at least try – “

“No! No. No.” Bilbo laughed happily, drawing Ra back on his lap. “No. No.”

“Oh, you big lump of grump,” Bilbo said, pushing Ra in the crook of his elbow. “You know what, I think you are the laziest raven I have ever encountered. Of all the birds that fly Arda, and may the Valar bless every single one of them, _you_ are a true exception, my friend!”

“No. No.”

Bilbo chuckled. He really shouldn't have taught him this word...

It could not be avoided, of course. He could say _wo_ , which changed to _no_ in less than three days. Since then, it was almost all Ra was saying to him now, which made Bilbo wonder if the raven actually understood. Then again, he knew very keenly when something was asked of him, and also knew very well when he did not want to do it. Saying no was one thing, but not even bothering to use his wing was non-vocal, though _very_ transparent.

Like holding a cat, Bilbo carried Ra back inside, and put him on his feet. Ra hopped away on himself, straight to the spare bedroom. Mahal knew what he would do there, but that was not Bilbo's concern.

Singing a soft tune of the Lonely Mountain, he started kneading dough for some bread. Balin had left about two weeks ago now, and he had not felt lonely at all. Not with Ra to keep his constant company. He was given a promise that soon, they would all return again. The dwarves had settled in Ered Luin – temporarily, of course, and would soon travel back to Erebor, but _not_ before stopping at his home once more! This time, however, it came with a struck deal that the dwarves would fend for themselves, not expecting Bilbo's pantry to be overflowing. All he had to do, according to them, was gather chairs and make the table. Oh, and perhaps light a fire, they had asked, since the weather had been nothing but cold and dreary. That, the hobbit could do!

“No. No.”

Bilbo smiled broadly. “I have not even said anything.”

“No.”

There was a soft ticking, so Bilbo moved over to the corridor, where Ra was bouncing towards him. Bilbo picked him up and took him along to the kitchen. There, he set Ra down on the table and continued about his own business. Ra croaked wordlessly this time. “This is bread. You might like some, later on. When it's baked, of course. The dough is rather atrocious, wouldn't eat it raw for the world!”

Ra drew out his one wing and cawed, hopping on the spot.

It made Bilbo sigh. “Oh, _now_ you want to fly.” Ra cawed again. “We can't just do things whenever they suit you, you know that.”

“No.”

“Ha!” Bilbo piped, followed by loud laughter. “I'll give you that one!”

Again he found himself outside, sitting on the top of his home with Ra in his hands. The bandages were once again removed and he held Ra up. He did not meant to toss him yet, knowing very well that he would either be too proud and attempt and fly either way, snapping his frail bones _again_ , or he would plop down on the ground with a fat thud, and scream at him mercilessly for having tossed him.

So, patiently Bilbo waited, until Ra started to move his right wing. Clearly this wasn't going well yet. “No,” he suddenly croaked. “No. No.”

“Ah, very well. How about I leave you out here for a moment then, huh?” Bilbo pushed himself up, but left Ra seated. “I'll go back inside. See you in a bit!”

But the very _second_ Bilbo attempted to move off, Ra trashed his one good wing. “No! No! No!”

Ra came hopping over to him. “Well you have to try some time,” Bilbo told him, yet he once more took Ra in his arms. The bird nestled there happily, causing Bilbo to roll with his eyes. Why was he spoiling him this much?

But it did not persist. Mainly because Bilbo needed it not to. In the end he was carrying Ra everywhere, even to the market, which was not at all convenient. That's why, when they tried for the third time, Bilbo _did_ toss him. In panic of not falling to the ground, Ra swept through the air with ease and glided to the ground, immediately excited about his achievement, only to disappear into the sky a moment later. “Show-off,” Bilbo had muttered, though with the widest of smiles.

After this, the train of surprises did not stop, for no more than two days later, he opened the door to another familiar face.

His heart leaped so hard in his chest he almost jumped with excitement. “Gandalf!”

“Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf greeted with an old laugh, crouching down so that Bilbo could embrace him.

“Oh, Gandalf, how I have missed you,” Bilbo said. “Please, do come in, you brought very poor weather with you!”

Gandalf had to almost crawl through his door again, bending in half to enter the smial. “Look at this, you have changed your decorations,” was the first Gandalf said upon seeing the refreshed interior of Bag End. “Not at all shabby. I think your mother would've very much enjoyed it.”

“Yes, indeed she would've!” Bilbo chirped. Who else would have such a fierce love for the outlandish theme than his own mother. “Could I pour you something?”

“No thank you. Oh.” Even though Gandalf was already folded, he crouched down even deeper to pick up a dark feather from the floor.

Bilbo hissed between his teeth. “Sorry about that,” he said, taking it from Gandalf's fingers. “Actually – there is someone I would like you to meet!”

“Someone to whom this feather belongs?” Gandalf asked cautiously, but the smile on his face told him he already knew enough. Didn't Gandalf _always_ know?

Bilbo whistled. “Ra!” he called out. He could already hear the fluttering of feathers, as did Gandalf, who braced himself by holding onto his pointy, grey hat. “It's safe, Gandalf, he won't attack you. They're a bit like your eagle friends, only smaller.”

Ra came swooping in from the atrium, and landed on Bilbo's arm, the one he had been holding out.

“Ah,” Gandalf said in a short, somewhat relieved sigh. “Look at that...”

“He can actually greet you – watch. Hold out your hand, as though to shake it.”

To humour himself, Gandalf stuck out his hand. As always, Ra cocked its head. “Ra.” The greater difference now, though, was Ra's sudden impulse to fly over, and sit on Gandalf's wrist.

The wizard smiled at the bird. “Who would've thought,” he muttered to himself. “Bilbo, my dear fellow, where has this raven come from? Erebor, I wager.”

“Yes, he has. Must've started flying here the moment he was capable of it,” Bilbo hummed, his hands on his back. “He's young, I have been told.”

Ra was busy cleaning himself, plucking underneath his own wing, but Gandalf slowly moved his arm so that Ra would eventually hop off of it. The raven did once he could simply step from Gandalf's arm over onto the backrest of a seat, where he continued to wash himself. “A young raven, hm?” Bilbo nodded. “You know what... I think some wine would be good.”

The two of them sat together by the kitchen table. Ra was noticeably calm today, and was mostly seated silently on the back of a chair. He was, however, incredibly observant, his big head moving left and right so rapidly, Bilbo wondered if he wasn't getting himself dizzy at all.

Gandalf too was singularly obsessed with watching Ra, Bilbo thought, seeing his grey, aged eyes focus on nothing but the raven at the table before him. “If you wish him gone, I could set him outside,” Bilbo offered.

“That would be of no need. Ah. Thank you.” Gandalf took the glass of wine from Bilbo's hand, and he smiled with satisfaction. During his last visit, the glass had been... perhaps a touch smaller. It'd merely been one sip for the great wizard. “Do tell me, Bilbo, if you would, how you have found this raven.”

“He found me, I think, by chance,” Bilbo explained, taking his own glass of wine in his hands. “I thought he was a crow at first! Asked him if he wanted a drag of my pipe.” Bilbo grinned. He was such a funny man! “He did not.”

Gandalf snorted. “Precisely.”

“I think he came to me about a month ago, now. Maybe a bit longer. Is almost saying my name! He's saying _no_ a lot, which can be somewhat bothersome.”

“Bilbo...” Gandalf looked at the raven, and to Bilbo's honest shock, Ra was doing the same in return. Ra made himself big when Gandalf looked at him, triggering the wizard to sigh. Only when Gandalf lost eye-contact with the animal, Ra settled back, his feathers smoothing and figure getting smaller as he relaxed.

“What – What is going on?” Bilbo asked, a question he maybe did not want the answer to. Yet, he felt inclined to ask. Gandalf keeping secrets was something he _vouched_ not to get involved with anymore. Not after Gandalf's sudden need to leave them behind at the borders of Mirkwood to do whatever-he-has-done. “Is there something you are keeping from me again? Because I have said so before, Gandalf, you and your wizardry antics – “

“No, no,” Gandalf assured him, shaking his head at the hobbit. “No antics. Not today.”

And then the wizard sipped his wine, _far_ too nonchalantly.

From then on, their discussions swayed from one topic to the other, blending seamlessly into a chat that lasted for hours on end. Gandalf would speak of all the irregularities of the world, Bilbo of his life back in the Shire, they would thoroughly discuss the quest and the people that had played part in this. Thranduil was quite the topic, where their homely chatter went to arguing, and where Ra lost his wits entirely, cawing so loud to support Bilbo's arguments that the feathers almost sprung from his body.

That was actually the thing that set Bilbo off.

In the middle of his speech as to why Thranduil shouldn't have been given his share of the gold, he looked at Ra, who was nervously shifting and moving on the back of the chair, stepping left and right, fluttering his wings and ruffling his feathers. Gandalf had raised an eyebrow at that. “Bilbo.”

“Oin told me something curious,” he said. Gandalf sat back in his seat. “Something that has stuck with me.”

“Indeed. And what might this something be?”

Incapable of speech, all that came from the depth of Bilbo's throat was a soft crackle.

Surely the wizard must've seen stranger things in this world... but could he take this chance to perhaps look eternally like the biggest fool Gandalf has ever met? Tooks already bore quite the silly titles... That would not look very good on his person _and_ his name, having been disapproved by a wizard for his stupidity!

“Do not hide behind your own tongue, my dear fellow,” Gandalf said, and it made Bilbo feel jittery that Gandalf was capable of reading his thoughts. “For I believe you are wondering what I might be able to confirm.”

“I wouldn't believe that,” Bilbo said. “And even if I would, I don't think such a thing is possible. Though I would very much like it to be...” Bilbo looked at Ra again, who had taken his liquid shape and had drooped down once more. He looked... almost fearful. “But it can't be.”

“Indulge me in your thought. I would not think any lesser of you, if that is what you fear, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo looked from Gandalf to the raven rapidly. “Partially,” he admitted. Then he inhaled deeply for courage. “Oin discussed the possibility that ravens – the ravens of Erebor, I should say... That they are... deceased kin, and friends. That after large battles and tremendous loss of life, ravens would sprout like weeds and... attach to others emotionally... It got me thinking, not specifically about Ra, but...” Bilbo's brow furrowed in thought and he scraped his throat. “Is that not absurd?”

“One might argue that it is,” Gandalf said. “I myself prefer to think in possibilities... This world is full of mysteries, Bilbo, many of which even I cannot solve. And perhaps they are not meant to. It is only us who can give meaning to things that have none. Why are we here? Why are the ravens of Erebor?” Bilbo looked at Ra with thoughtful eyes. “Why do we suffer such great loss to kinds we used to call our own... Or _are_ our own. We suppose this is the way of the world, but that is not a very satisfactory explanation, is it not?” Bilbo shook his head sluggishly. “We seek deeper than we should, I find, though this is not always a bad thing. If only to gift us with this spark of hope.... One we all seek.” Gandalf leaned on the table, and both were looking at Ra. “Is it absurd, Bilbo? I'd like to think that it is not. But can I give you the answer you are seeking?”

They exchanged glares then, until Gandalf smiled.

“I believe I can.”

“You know more of this?” Bilbo asked, his voice down to a whisper.

Gandalf cocked his head. Ra croaked at him before he hopped over to the wizard. “Very kindled spirits, they are,” Gandalf said graciously, his hand smoothing over Ra's dark feathers. “For they are not their own. The ravens of Erebor are quite unique, because unlike any other animal, they carry the souls of the deaths that were unjust. Souls that were not meant to return to their maker quite yet...”

Bilbo swallowed hard, his throat having been removed from all moisture as he listened.

“And I believe _Ra_ knows this very well. Don't you?” Gandalf smiled at the raven, his large hand patting its head. “Though he cannot put it to words, I believe he is keenly aware of what we are saying, by the way we are saying it. And he would not have come all this way, had he forgotten who you were, and what you once meant to him... master Baggins.”

At a complete loss of words, Bilbo sat with his hands covering his mouth, leaning on the table.

He had already, sort of, tried to piece all of this together... However, a sensible part of his mind had told him this was all a jest, that this could not be true. But a _more_ sensible part of his mind had argued it was a waste of time to do as much as think of it.

But there sat Bilbo, son of Bungo, eyes thick with tears.

“The – the acorn,” was the first he uttered. “The acorns, the many, many acorns – you knew. You _knew_.” Ra shrank at the force of Bilbo's words. “You bloody knew and you did not say a thing!”

“Easy now – “

“No, no he – he _knew_! He – “ Bilbo let out an indignant laugh, one that rang through the house. It had actually changed Gandalf's face from worry to deep pity. “You – _You_ knew, I – I cannot believe you!” he shouted. “Even after death, Thorin, you – _you_ – “

And then Bilbo cried.

He lay on the table, his arms over his head as he wept. The poor, gentle hobbit's heart was crushed anew, his mind soaring with memories he had forced himself to forget, words he wished were never spoken to him, thoughts that had occupied his minds for over a year – all the energy and time he'd spend on demanding himself to move on, tirelessly, working through trauma after trauma as though they were nothing, because he _had_ to forget them in order to live his life for _just_ another day.

For what purpose was there left in his life but sit out his time, and linger on days long gone?

The raven hopped over to him, croaking sadly.

“No,” Bilbo managed to ground out between his harsh sobs. “No, you left me, Thorin, how _could_ you, you – you inattentive – you absolute – “ Gripping his hair, the hobbit ground his teeth and groaned, what would have been a wail, had it not been successfully been repressed. When Ra hopped forward, Bilbo lost his temper completely. “You have _left_ me to suffer in my agony, and you _knew_ \- yet you did nothing!! How could you have watched while I tried so hard to forget you, and _failed_ miserably at it?!”

The only appropriate response, and by far the most capable a raven could provide, was that he started spreading his wings, though not at all with pride or elegance.

It was Thorin's answer. It was all he could do. All he could give.

 _And the signs were there, Bilbo Baggins!_ a small voice in his head cried. “You should have known,” he said aloud in response of his own thought. “You should have known, you oblivious fool!”

Gandalf finally spoke up again, hoping to console Bilbo best he could. “Wisdom is often hiding behind denial, Bilbo,” he said, his voice solemn but profound. “It is there where we do not dare seek...”

“But it _can't_ be real, Thorin is _dead_ ,” he said, the fact stated hard by the punctuation of his voice. The matter-of-fact tone even had Gandalf wince a bit. This was far beyond denial, yet nowhere near acceptance. “Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin, son of Thrain, Thorin king under the Mountain, he – he is gone! I held him in my arms and he – he left, he – “

There was blood on his hands. They were moist, they were warm, they were trembling. Bilbo jumped and sobbed.

“Bilbo... Come now...” Gandalf got up and moved over to take Bilbo in his arms.

Not once before had he so openly spilled before anyone else. In every moment, Bilbo had managed to keep his wits about himself, forced away any emotion that threatened to overthrow him, and tear him up. But now he could not.

He was never very sociable. Not before, and not after his parents perished. He was complicated to befriend, troublesome to upkeep, so he has, since young, grown accustomed to being alone. Not needing anyone, not _wanting_ anyone else in his life. Only one man had first pierced this iron armour of his, and he had done this in a crushing hug, he had been humbled by Bilbo – of all people! – and he had since then shown nothing but respect, and had treated him like an equal. The truth was that he had found someone just as broken as him. A misfit just as large, someone who never found anyone to be with, someone who never found his worth, his friends, the place where he belonged.

And when they found each other, _actually_ found each other, Bilbo had felt so certain that, for the first time in his life, he'd found someone identical to him.

Only to lose him no more than three months later.

And Bilbo Baggins was once more alone.

Though he had made other friends, none had come near to what he had felt with Thorin. Having found his equivalent in him, taking other friendships to such an intricate level was tough, though not impossible. Not exactly. But in a way, yes... He was convinced he would never, _never_ have a friend like Thorin again.

But then there was Ra. The one thing that, after this devastating discovery, had brought him to a certain peace with Thorin's death. Because he knew he could learn to love in that same way again.

To discover he had once more fallen ill to Thorin's charm... To him, that was heartbreaking. It was proof of the inevitable. He wasn't going to find anyone else again. He wouldn't find anyone with a bond shaped like theirs _ever again_.

Now Bilbo Baggins was a slow fellow, but not too dumb, after all, for he looked up at the raven through his thick tears. His vision was a blur but he saw very well what stood before him. No, _who_ stood before him. Was it really up to him to mourn for a friend who had fallen, when he was right there?

Ra had been his friend. Long after Thorin's death, he had managed to find him again, as he hoped they would. He had expected this to happen after he too had died, yet here he sat, with a wizard and a raven, who embodied the soul and spirit of Thorin himself. He need not search for a new friend... His old one was here. His _true_ one was here.

Wiping away his tears quickly, he pulled out of Gandalf's embracement to take Thorin into his best he may. He was still a raven, after all, but one he was determined to cuddle. “You... absolute bastard...” Bilbo whispered. Thorin cawed at him, nuzzling against Bilbo's cheek. Thorin did not understand the words, and even though they were foul, there was nothing misleading about Bilbo's heavily pounding heart, the tenderness in his voice, the strong yearning in his hold.

And don't get him wrong. He was _terribly_ angry with Ra, or Thorin, one should say, for doing this to him... But on the other hand, he swore that really, he couldn't remember a time he'd felt any happier than he did now.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you.” Bilbo accepted the glass of water from Gandalf, who sat down beside him, by the fire. Bilbo scraped his throat. “I'm sorry, Gandalf. I'm not usually this dramatic.”

Gandalf chuckled. “No need to apologise, Bilbo. After all, reuniting with a good friend can be quite overwhelming. Especially after they have been presumed dead.”

Bilbo flinched at those words with discomfort. “Presumed? No, no – I have been at Thorin's funeral myself,” he pointed out. “I have watched, I – I lay witness to his passing! To think that I would _presume_ he was dead. Oh no. Thorin Oakenshield had long passed into legend! Yet here I sit, at home, in the Shire, with a... _raven_.” Bilbo looked at Ra, who was sitting by the fire, staring up at him. It made Bilbo scowl. “What must I call him now, then?”

“You may still call him as you please, he shan't be bothered, I can imagine,” Gandalf hummed at him. “He is still... well, very much the same man you used to know, once.”

“But I do not _understand,_ Gandalf. How can this be possible? Thorin is a – a bird. He is a bird and I am not at all okay with this! Mm – not at all!” Bilbo shook his head. “A man once so high and mighty could not have been demoted to an animal that is related to a chicken.”

“Oh, now, I don't think – “

“You know what I mean,” Bilbo said snappishly. “Birds are dumb. Thorin was not.”

“Have I ever, for you to underestimate anyone!” Gandalf laughed. “That is not the hobbit I know! The Bilbo I knew respected every living being on this world.”

“I had more than respect for Thorin,” he muttered over the edge of his glass. The raven cocked his head, and Bilbo's only response to that was a moan.

Gandalf sat back, but never lost his amusement. To him, Bilbo was quite a funny little being. “You should rejoice, Bilbo, to have your friends return to you. Many are not so lucky. Many dwarves aren't given this opportunity either. No one knows exactly how Mahal chooses his children that may return to Middle-Earth... though it is said that those who leave their business unfinished are rewarded the gift of wings to finish them.” Never before Bilbo has seen a bird look this _urgent_. It... did remind him of Thorin, a little bit... “No doubt Thorin had much to make up for.”

Ra cawed at Gandalf, flapping his wings.

“Now I mean no insult,” Gandalf assured him. At that, the raven settled back down. “But you must admit, you have made quite a cake of your life.”

“Wait – you can understand him? And he understands you?” Bilbo asked.

Gandalf shrugged. “I can only assume so, that he understands me. That I cannot tell, it will depend on how well he knows his speech. Besides, I think it is best that the two of you find your own way to communicate. I must warn you though, Bilbo... Thorin's presence might not last forever.”

Bilbo raised his brow. “Pardon me?”

“A second chance in life is a gift almost greater than the life itself... And though it is rare, it is not given freely. The ravens of Erebor live long and important lives. They share in the wealth of – “

“Yes, let's skip ahead, shall we,” Bilbo said, impatiently moving his hand in a clockwise motion. “We forward to the piece where you speak to me of Thorin's lasting presence.”

Gandalf laughed joyously. “Very well! Though I am not certain how to say this properly. My knowledge runs far and wide, however on the topic of ravens, and the dwarves in general, I am sad to admit my wisdom is very limited. I have read and I have witnessed, and though I stand high above your kind, I cannot anticipate the intentions of the Valar. What happens beyond death is also – “ Bilbo rolled his eyes unwillingly. Gandalf smiled at his eagerness.

The hobbit scraped his throat. “Sorry,” he said over the rim of his glass. Ra was even so bold to fly up at Bilbo and peck him in his arm. “Ah – I already apologised!”

Ra croaked and flew away again.

“I believe the reason for this phenomenon is for the dwarves to seek justification. The souls, I should say. And Thorin has always been quite fearless, I would not doubt he would shout at his maker to give him another chance. Another moment. Leaving behind that which he valued most...” Gandalf peered at him with gentle eyes. “And I do not speak of his home.”

Bilbo bowed his head humbly.

“To be honest with you, Bilbo, I am quite at a loss of words myself... Thorin was a very dear friend to me, too. But what it comes down to, is the following...” Having said this, Gandalf leaned onto his knees to sit closer to Bilbo. “Thorin shall be with you for as long as he may. As long as he _needs_. But I am afraid he shan't be for a moment longer.”

The hobbit sniffed. “So what you mean to say is that he won't be here... forever?”

“No, this he shan't. It is mainly temporary. Ravens grow old, but their souls wither with age. Not to say that they disappear completely. They shan't rot, they shan't go to waste. Thorin shall find peace...” They both looked at Ra, who was looking at nothing in particular. “After all, that is why he is here. Many things he must regret... But you would be surprised what we can make peace with, Bilbo Baggins, if we are given no other choice. However, some remain. Some cannot be corrected, no matter how badly we strive to. We keep regrets closer to our heart than we do victories...” Bilbo sat back in his chair with a deep sigh. “The victory is that you two met each other. That you crossed paths, and found each other before the end. But this is not what stays with you... After all that you have gone through together, the persisting feeling is grief. Not glee... Thorin shall be no different. I cannot imagine he found rest after what he has left behind...” Gandalf chuckled silently, his head shaking. “I have seen Thorin in many moods, Bilbo. I have seen him enraged. I have seen him merry, I have seen him grieved. But I have never seen him value someone as he has you...” Gandalf began to smile. “You know what I am trying to say, do you not?”

Nodding through welling tears, Bilbo pressed his fist against his mouth.

He knew.

The raven had not been looking at them, but somehow it understood. It glanced up at Bilbo and was immediately flying to be with him, to dry his tears.

“So he... He remembers?” Bilbo asked hoarsely. “And he... admired me?” Gandalf's smile spoke more words than could be said in a lifetime. A choked hiccup escaped him, and he sought comfort in petting Ra.

“As once before, he shall be your companion. That is, until you are both ready to move on.”

“How long will I have?”

Gandalf reached out to hold onto Bilbo's shoulder, squeezing it tenderly. “As long as you, and Thorin, will need...”


	6. Of casualties and apologies

You must think him terribly selfish, but he did not tell anyone. Not even the others.

Gandalf had left him with little extra insight. The wizard had remained for no more than two hours and left before sundown. All he had given him as instructions were wild guesses, that _perhaps he knows, perhaps he doesn't_. Well that did not help him at all, didn't it!

He and... Thorin? Should he say Thorin? Well, yes – he and Thorin were deprived of sleep. Bilbo had closed his door behind himself, needing a moment for his own with nothing but his racing thoughts and throbbing heart. He hadn't allowed the raven into his chamber at all. Not that he heard him, either. Not even in the morning, where he usually sat before the front door, desperate to spread his wings and fly about. None of that.

Instead, the morning after, he found Ra flying circles in the house. He did not chatter. He did not even greet him.

To be fair, neither did Bilbo.

The time between Gandalf's visit and the returning visit of the dwarves was dreadful. Bilbo could not quite cope with the idea, somehow. It was too illogical, too mythical. Could it really be Thorin?

Yes, the signs were there. The personality was, too. Ra had been very stubborn, very pressing, loud but affectionate when need be, usually rather understanding. Even so... He would be looking at a _bird_. “At least you did not come back as a slug,” Bilbo had whispered, the first and one of the last things he said to Ra that following day.

By the time it was evening, and Bilbo found that he had not even moved from his chair, he had sighed and gone to the raven.

“I'm terribly sorry,” he'd started quietly, scratching his own arm. “But I need – I _need_ a moment on my own. I can't do this, Th...” Bilbo shook his head. “I'm asking you to leave for a little while.”

Something told him Ra – no, _Thorin_ had not understood, and you may not agree with Bilbo on this, but he _had_ to. He'd snatched the bird from where it had been resting and simply took him outside, closing the door swiftly before it could fly back in.

Bilbo Baggins sniffed at hearing a very sorrowful croak from the other side of his door... But this was necessary. Otherwise, Bilbo could barely breathe in his own home.

And strangely, seeing Ra fly away through his window brought him at ease. He did not stay. He too needed a moment. This was but a thought, yet it was a comfortable one.

Even so, Bilbo did not sleep. He barely ate. Did not wash. Would not drink. Refused to go outside. Loathed being inside.

The hobbit was broken, more so than he had been when he returned from Erebor.

Ah, yes, frail is the heart of a hobbit. They are quick to love, fast to forgive. But _very_ easy to shatter, as you can see, for all it took was one dwarf to put Bilbo in a wrong state of mind. Where he could not even feel it pound in his chest anymore, his longing for him so strong that he had trapped himself in his dream. And even though Thorin _had_ returned to him, please try and understand that having him back as a bird was not the same. It held no equal significance, because when he spoke, Thorin did not always understand, and whatever Thorin might want to say, he couldn't.

Days dragged by, one after the other, and Bilbo went whiter in his face with each passing day.

Somehow he found himself where he _should've_ been, or perhaps expected himself to be, right after returning from Erebor. It had not been this drastic, or this powerful. He had a task at hand back then. Rebuild his own house. Not even his home, his house, which had been skinned from a lifetime of memory and warmth. But what was there now?

If there was even anything at all, Bilbo started to wonder...

The first day he finally did manage to sit out on his bench, droopy and badly preserved, he was met with a familiar sight. “No...” Bilbo whispered. “I am not ready...”

And Ra flew away again.

Even so, the only reason Bilbo would go outside after that was to sit on the bench, and wait for Ra to come by, only so that he could shake his head at the bird, and he would leave. This repeated itself for almost a week, and at that point, Bilbo was not doing well at all. Their bounder Fisco had noticed and brought him food and drinks, had alerted the other hobbits, but Bilbo needed none of their charity, and their hollow pity. No one cared for him, in the end. Of this, Bilbo was convinced.

The day Bilbo was finally nibbling on some stale bread, he did not immediately decline Thorin's attempt of contact.

He sat on his usual spot on the fence, Bilbo sat on his bench exactly the same way he used to when they first met. Thorin had looked at him hard, for long, not making a single sound, or moving one muscle. “I'm sorry...” Bilbo managed to utter eventually, perhaps almost twenty minutes later. “I am _so_ sorry...”

“Bilbo.” Choking, Bilbo's head snapped up. Thorin cocked his head and moved his wings gently. “Bilbo.”

“... Thorin.”

The raven hopped from the fence, flying towards Bilbo's front door. Bilbo sniffed, using the sleeve on his wrist to clean his nose.

A moment later, Thorin came flying back. He sat on Bilbo's knee, an acorn wedged between its beak.

Bilbo held out a shaky hand, in which Thorin had very slowly, almost lovingly deposited the acorn. And then he croaked. “Bilbo.”

“Yes...” It had sounded like a question, rather than an answer. But when he smiled, it was with certainty.

Inside, Thorin took care of him more than Bilbo was doing of him. Bilbo's legs were weak and shaky, but when he sat down to rest, Thorin flew back and forth through the smial. In his claws he would carry many items. A soft blanket for Bilbo to warm up with, an empty, wooden mug to fill with water, a piece of fruit, a slice of bread that, sadly, was now impaled, and the last was a handkerchief, which had made Bilbo chuckle for the first time in three weeks.

Thorin picked at Bilbo's bathrobe a moment later, removing it from dust and plushes, and then went on with Bilbo's hair, trying to somehow comb through the mess with his beak. “It's quite alright,” he assured Thorin eventually, when he'd gotten stuck in Bilbo's hair, his wings trashing violently in panic. Bilbo had removed him and smiled, holding the raven cupped in his hands. “I'll bathe later.”

Thorin croaked, snuggling against Bilbo's belly. “Ori.”

“Yes, they will come soon,” he soothed. “They will help me too... I'm certain...”

He met the others two days later, matter of fact! And safe to say that they were startled beyond wits to see Bilbo open the door in the shape that he did. Yes, he had trimmed and combed his hair, he had dressed properly again – Thorin had actually helped gather an outfit for him! But healing was never this swift, so he was still bearing long, discoloured bags underneath his eyes, his face was a bit grey, almost, and he was thin.

They'd all scurried away, several taking Bilbo into their arms and sitting him down, vouching they'd look after him.

In the meantime, Thorin was watching them intently, keeping both eyes open, and helping if he had to. Like a dog he guarded Bilbo, and went absolutely crazy when someone did something he did not approve of. Dwalin had handed the hobbit a mug of ale with one of his hands on the back of Bilbo's head. He'd smiled very fondly and had offered this as a consolation, but Thorin screeched and attacked the mug of ale, as well as Dwalin, for even _trying_ to feed Bilbo alcohol while he was doing this poorly.

“Still got the temper,” Dwalin complained. Oin was busy bandaging a nasty scratch on his muscled arm.

Bilbo smiled. “That he does, yes!”

“Time to teach Ra some manners.”

“Actually.” Bilbo picked up a green, fresh grape from his plate. “I've decided to give your suggestion a try, and I have renamed Ra. A name that is indeed more powerful.”

“And what might this be?” Dwalin asked. Oin was watching too.

Bilbo looked up at the raven and smiled. “I found Thorin to be quite fitting.”

The dwarves were touched much deeper than Bilbo would ever learn to acknowledge. But even so... he did not share the news. He could not. And Thorin did not fight him on this matter, either. When he was ready, when _they_ were ready, he would do his bidding. But not now.

You must _still_ think him terribly selfish, but he did not tell anyone. Not even the others...

 

* * *

 

“Are you warm? Would you perhaps like something hotter?”

Bilbo held up his hand at Dori. “No, thank you. The tea is marvelous as is!”

Even so, Dori continued to fret. “Perhaps some socks, mister Bilbo! By all means, but they must be freezing!”

“My dearest Dori, I am honestly quite well! I would not say this to you unless it was true. And socks are not for my kind at all. My feet are warm, and taken care of!” He put one of them up with a broad smile. Bofur had been the one to do that, against all expectations, sitting down and taking Bilbo's feet in his lap, brushing the hairs and cleaning and cutting his nails. Many times he's shared the importance of the feet of a hobbit, and they had been astoundingly kind about it. It had taken Bofur almost an hour and a half, but they were perfection!

The dwarves lived their own lives in his smial. It really was big enough for all of them, even though many shared a chamber. Nothing uncommon, he'd been told, nothing that was working against their own, free will.

They had cleaned his home from dust and cobwebs, they'd filled his pantry and had thrown out everything rotten and oozing. Made his bed, washed his clothes. Oh, how very kind they were, it almost itched Bilbo the wrong way! They have ever been taking care of him, and he felt guilty he did not do anything in return but sit, and recover from his illness.

“Oi!!”

Dori and Bilbo glanced up at Gloin, who came hurrying over. “What is the matter?” Bilbo asked.

“Yer bird keeps knocking the ales on the floor!” Bilbo laughed at hearing that. “Where do ya keep the towels?”

Dori got up. “I'll fetch one for you, mister Gloin! You sit tight, mister Bilbo.” Dori patted his shoulder and followed Gloin towards the kitchen.

“How are ya feeling?”

The sound had come from behind him. Bilbo turned his head. Dwalin came moving over, his arms tightly folded to protect himself, but face very weak and fragile. Anxious, Bilbo liked to think. “I'm well, Dwalin. Truly.”

“May I sit?”

Bilbo gestured at the empty chair by his side. “Please, yes – do sit down!”

Dwalin settled down, seeking hard for some comfort, wiggling for minutes on end until he finally sat still. They did not speak, surprisingly enough. Aside from Thorin, Dwalin had been just as watchful, tending to every one of Bilbo's needs, no matter how ridiculous they were! Bilbo had, to seek Dwalin's limits, asked him to sing a song for him and dance on the table, for their amusement.

Guess who had leaped on there without second thought, and had danced like a young lass in a dress!

And guess which soul had cackled hardest at that.

Joking aside, Dwalin was a wonderful caretaker, and Bilbo appreciated him very much for it.

Ori came walking through the room, holding Thorin pressed firmly against his chest. “Oh Bilbo, I love your bird,” he said with his usual, shy voice. “I think he really likes me.”

Even though Thorin was pretty much strangled in Ori's arms like a stuffed animal, he continued to croak. “Ori. Ori.”

Bilbo and Dwalin simply watched as Ori moved around the house, soon disappearing as he strolled leisurely with Thorin trapped in his arms.

“Does he speak well?” Dwalin asked.

Bilbo shook his head. “Not yet, but I am not practicing enough with him, I know this. Though he learned my entire name! I feel that he must've been practicing that word only, because it really is all he says, or can say.”

“'Side from Ori's name.”

“Evidently, yes. Those are sounds he knows. I wager he can't say Dwalin yet.” He saw Dwalin look away, which made Bilbo smirk. “Am I detecting jealousy – “

“Ye're jealous.” Bilbo laughed while Dwalin quickly tried to regain himself, pulling a bit at his clothes. “I'm glad to learn he's been well. A shame to hear that ya haven't.”

“I suppose the lack of mourning had finally caught up with me.”

It made Dwalin's face sink. He held his hands together, leaning forward. The weight of the world was suddenly on his shoulders, he seemed to shrivel entirely. “Met lady Dis the other day,” he said. “In Ered Luin.”

“I was wondering about her,” Bilbo admitted. Thorin's youngest sibling, his sister. The one and only remainder of Thror's children. Though this could be argued about, for Thorin had very long been saying he was certain that his father, Thrain, was still alive somewhere in the wilderness of the world. But this held no value, not to Dis, he could imagine. She had lost most. Not only her brother, but her two sons as well, Fili and Kili, who had been far too young to perish. Far too wonderful, too. “How is she faring?”

“Ah, well, I shouldna say too much. But she is very silent.”

Bilbo sighed. “I've been wanting to meet her, but I can assume that she was not ready for this?”

“No, not at all. Like yourself, she's still busy mourning. Wouldna talk to anyone, except for me and Balin, as well as her friend. She's actually Gloin's wife. They are on very good terms...” Dwalin sat back with a deep sigh. “But she canna be bothered to visit ya. This is nothing personal. Ya were a friend of Thorin but she did not know ya, after all. She would be meeting a new face, of which she has little interest. Thorin had plenty of friends, as did Fili and Kili. Having known them doesn't give ya a free pass to go and meet up with her. She'll need a proper reason. She's moving towards Erebor with many others, actually.”

“Was she not already there?”

“Na. Couldn't bear the thought of it for a long time. 'cause, well, the last she had of them was in Ered Luin, not in Erebor. Leaving Eriador would mean...”

Bilbo bowed his head and hummed. “She will have to start life anew.”

“Aye. Me brother and I are doing everything we can. Which is _very_ little, I must admit.”

“Ori. Ori.”

“Yes! I do think I love you too,” Ori chirped. They looked up at Ori, who came strolling by again from another direction.

“Bilbo! Ori!” Thorin cawed. This time he looked more than eager to escape. “Ori! Bilbo!”

Bilbo wavered his hand. “You are strong enough, fend for yourself,” he said.

“ _Bilbo_!” Thorin screeched helplessly.

And they disappeared once more, around another corner.

The next day, they all took Bilbo out for a walk. The twelve of them moved through the Shire, at peace, unlike the villagers they passed on their way. Worst was for them to see gentlehobbit Bilbo at the head of the group at times, but that was not really his concern. They also stood with their mouths agape when he first introduced his raven. And really – if they did not know about his dwarf friends at this point, that was on _them_!

Moving like this was very memorable to him. The only ones he missed were Fili and Kili. They were in fact half the energy of the company. Now, when they moved, it was more serene. Which was of course _odd_ because, well, they were dwarves! And he always thought them to be so overbearing and far too raucous. Without the two princes, the mood was a bit dim. Kili's jokes were longed for, and Fili's undying optimism was yearned for.

Though don't get him wrong, it was ever so delightful to walk with them again through forests and over hills!

Thorin especially enjoyed himself tremendously! He swept and glided, soared and cried with glee. And no wonder! He too would be quite enchanted after having lived his life on the ground. After all, wasn't it everybody's wish to, at some point, be able to grow wings and fly away? Hover above the world as freely as birds could.

When Thorin was not flying, he sat on the arm of one of his other friends, who would try and teach him how to make certain sounds. At least they did it in Westron, so Bilbo wouldn't have to fiddle with any Khuzdul.

At home, he went almost straight to bed, not having been quite fit enough to walk such a distance. Thorin sat with him, but on one of the bedposts – he found the mattress to be far too unstable and squishy. “Bilbo.” Bilbo smiled, his eyelids lazily parting. “Bilbo.”

“Hmm?”

“Sh. Sh. Bilbo. Sh.”

He chuckled into his pillow. “Have you been learning? No surprise, they are very keen to have you chat like a hobbit before the end of this week...”

Thorin croaked with frustration. “Ori. Sh. Sh. Bilbo.”

Only now Bilbo leaned up, his fist rubbing into one of his tired eyes. “What is it?” he asked.

Thorin flew over to the nightstand and sat down on there. Bilbo had often told him not to. The raven was rather large and he would always knock over either the candle, or Bilbo's drink. “Ssh... Sho.”

It was like watching theater to Bilbo. With his hands tucked nicely underneath his head, he watched.

Thorin ruffled his feathers and puffed up, growling. “Bilbo.”

“I can't help you, I fear,” Bilbo mumbled wearily.

“Sh – ssh. Ssho. Sho. So.” His small head perked up, and he cawed without making a particular sound. “So. So.”

“So,” Bilbo hummed silently, hoping to encourage his speech by repeating after him.

Thorin hopped a bit closer, pushing forward his beak to press it against Bilbo's small, round nose. “So. Ori.”

Bilbo slowly raised his brow.

“So – ori. So-rrri...”

As softly as he could, Thorin nuzzled his beak, his black eyes closed.

“Sorry, Bilbo. Sorry.”


	7. The risk of time

 “Very good. A bit more straight please, Bilbo.”

Bilbo lengthened his back at once, sitting more upright than he had before. “Is it almost finished – “

“Ssh, no talking. I'm busy with the mouth.”

Balin stood behind Ori, his arms folded and bearing a smile. “Don't worry, laddie, this has a most striking resemblance!”

“I surely do hope so – “

“Bilbo, please,” Ori begged sheepishly.

“Right. Sorry.” He sniffed and squared his shoulders once more.

Ori had been insistent on making a drawing of him. For this, Bilbo had put on his finest blazer! A drawing hadn't been made since he was... probably in his thirties. It was one he did not cherish, his nose had been too big and his eyes far too small! Ori was the first artist he trusted entirely to put him on parchment.

Though had he known it'd take at least an hour.... he would've maybe chosen a better chair to sit on.

Old Balin pointed at the door. “Me, Bifur and Nori are headed for the markets. Would you be needing something?”

“One moment, please,” Ori said. “I'm almost finished with his mouth.”

Bilbo could really only roll his eyes at that point, though don't mistake him, he adored Ori beyond measure.

The very second Ori briefly nodded his head, Bilbo smiled. “If you could please fetch Thorin something to eat, I think he's run out of his meat. He enjoys mutton most, see if you can find that! If not, no shame – he can eat whatever he pleases, only he never _does_ , he is far too picky.”

That roused Thorin from his brooding in the windowsill. He cawed loudly. “No, Bilbo. No.”

The three of them laughed. “I'm not apologising, Thorin, you should know better by now!” Bilbo said. “Perhaps you could take him with, actually. He's been inside for far too long, he could use some exercise.” Thorin immediately tucked himself away again. “You lazy lump of feathers you – up you get! Accompany Balin towards the markets.”

“No,” Thorin croaked.

Bilbo snorted. “Are you going to tell me that the mighty Thorin, so – “ Bilbo swiftly swallowed back his words.

He ought to be more careful, he did not mean to spill the truth this openly, and with such little tactic, calling his bird son of Thrain! _Think_ , Bilbo Baggins!

“So easily... er.” Bilbo sniffed loudly and shook his head. “I forgot what I was saying.”

“That comes with age,” Balin comforted him with. That did not help at all.

He sat model for Ori as he scribbled and drew. The dwarves had already started packing, and were cleaning the smial from their stay. It was sorry that they would go, but it was long overdue. The journey had been the most wonderful thing, but blimey, he'd forgotten how _present_ they were! He'd even failed to take a bath with some privacy!

And if there was _one_ thing Bilbo, son of Bungo, craved most... You guessed it right. That would be privacy.

“Ori, this is a masterpiece! This is absolutely magnificent!”

“Well, you would only be complimenting yourself... I only drew it.”

“I am complimenting the drawing!” Bilbo laughed warmly, patting Ori on his shoulder. “Truly, Ori, you are the finest artist I know of!”

“Will ya hang it on the walls?” Bofur asked.

Bilbo shook his head. “No, this is for safekeeping now! From now on, my hair shall turn grey and I shall wrinkle like water, but as I turn to dust, I still have this outstanding photograph of myself! Of which, by the way, I am _eternally_ grateful, Ori.” Beyond his freckled cheeks, Ori blushed, his hands wedged between his thighs and head down a bit.

“It was my pleasure, Bilbo,” he mumbled shyly.

“Comman, Ori, ye're a talent!” Bombur encouraged.

Ori glanced back up. “I wish I'd made two, one for taking.”

“Are you lacking keepsakes of mine?” Bilbo asked. None of them answered, so he jumped from his chair. “By the hair on my feet, how could you have kept this silent from me! My house is overflowing with personal riches – now you all wait a minute! I shall gather some things!”

“That's really of no need – “

“Nonsense!” he cried through his house, moving straight towards his study. He had _so_ much to give, and only now that they had voiced their wish, he felt like he had someone worthy to give it all to.

And thus it was that Bilbo almost raided his entire house on his own, bringing piece after piece to the dwarves in the sitting area. He brought books, clothes, maps, cutlery, pots, an old flute he used to play, a foot-comb, his old walking stick, and while he was bringing all these things, he started to realise that it was time to let go of some of his own things that he'd taken on his adventure.

Therefor he was soon giving them things he'd taken then. Not when going home, but when leaving to catch up with the trail of dwarves. He had something small and sentimental for every dwarf.

All of them were emotionally struck with his gift like he'd been before, receiving items from them, as well as his passed friends. The only one he'd managed to really shake was Bofur, who had tears in his big, precious eyes when Bilbo handed him his finest handkerchief, sewn with two large, red Bs. “Take this home, where you belong,” Bilbo had told him. Bofur had almost cried, but instead to show his gratitude, he'd pushed his floppy hat on Bilbo's head.

“Bless your beard, laddie! Please keep this,” he wept with joy. “Home will always be where you are, Bilbo! And I'll miss ya greatly!”

“Oh, you,” Bilbo breathed, taking his friend in his arms.

And then the next. And the next.

Until he stood by his door, watching them leave one by one, their bags packed and moving down the winding road of Bagshot Row.

Bilbo sighed deeply, which earned him a small nudge against his cheek from Thorin. “There they go,” he said, waving his hand when he saw them do so from the distance. “Alone again.”

“No. Bilbo. Us.”

He smiled, trying to look aside without bumping Thorin off his shoulder. In a way, yes, Thorin was right! They would have each other now. But he remembered how that went last time, and though he would not openly admit it, he felt nervous.

Even so, he had his friend with him, seated right there on his shoulder. It was not the same as the hefty dwarf beside him, but... it had never been Thorin's outer that had drawn them to one another.

“Well,” he said quietly, having met the moment where his friends were mere specks in the distance. He sniffed, and nodded his head. “Time for supper.”

 

* * *

 

They talked.

In fact, they started talking, and they never stopped again.

Even though Thorin found it hard to say words, he learned _swiftly_ , knowing almost every tone, every pitch, every noise, in less than a month!

And before Bilbo knew it, he sat by the fire on a quiet late-summer evening, a cup of chestnut tea with a hint of cinnamon, sliced pear, and some blackberries. Thorin sat on whatever he could, moving from one place to another, needing to move more often. But his attention always remained, he was rarely distracted, and he was determined to learn. And they would talk until midnight.

But Bilbo never, not once, tackled what happened at Ravenhill. Perhaps because he knew that the conversation was too complicated. To deep. Thorin only just learned how to hum, use the letters _m_ and _p_ properly.

Also, he remembered very well what Gandalf had told him. They were together, so long as they had to. What if that meant that, the very _second_ Thorin found peace, he would leave? Maybe die! Oh no, he could not have that, now! He made sure to be exceptionally careful not to even mention Ravenhill at all, or his death, his funeral, the things he left behind... And so the list went on.

They enjoyed speaking about elves, though! It was Thorin's first curse word, and he snapped it at everybody who bothered him. Bilbo had laughed the lungs from his body when Thorin flew around Lobelia and her large, theatrical hat, screeching _Elf! Elf! Elf!_

But his happiness came with a cost, for the entirety of the Shire had officially declared him mad!

Did Bilbo mind? Not really! If anything, he would love to accompany Thorin, and yell _elf_ at other hobbits too. Oh, Bilbo had gone as mad as they came, and he absolutely loved it!

Now you are wondering. Could Bilbo Baggins be any happier?

Sadly... yes.

He could be much happier. Because he found himself lost in stray thought every time Thorin was not talking to him, and sometimes even _while_ they were. There was something off. Yes, it was actually Thorin who spoke to him. This he discovered when Thorin told him something about his old life back in Ered Luin, though with very limited words, you can understand.

It was Thorin indeed, and he should rejoice!

But did the bird qualify as Thorin? Its voice was shrill and... not really a voice, more a strange sound as though he'd damaged one of his pointy ears. His physique... He was a _bird_. Enough said. The words he did say didn't sound like Thorin, not in what reached his ears nor what was behind them. His behaviour wasn't always on par either. Bilbo found him sitting still more often, resting, sleeping. The Thorin he knew couldn't sit still for longer than a minute, always wanting to be busy, to be occupied.

Was this Thorin to him? No. Did he enjoy the raven's presence, though? Yes, yes – he would! Because Thorin was still sharp, still compelling, still so delightfully pigheaded Bilbo found that he was rolling his eyes most of the day.

“Bilbo.” Thorin nudged a small button into his hand. “For you.”

“Mm.” Bilbo looked down, his fingers curling instinctively around the button before he had even laid witness to its existence. “Oh, yes. Thank you Thorin.”

Thorin extended his wings with pride. “Button.” He pushed his beak against Bilbo's vest, pushing it quite hard into his belly. “There.”

“Where did you get this from?” Bilbo asked. Thorin looked at him for a long while, and for about... ten seconds, give or take, they only stared. After that, Thorin spurted off and flew away. “Ah – Thorin, you nuisance!” Bilbo barked. “Stop ruining my clothes!”

“Not me!”

And there it was. The inevitable eye roll. But accentuated with a little, secret smile.

He had to admit, Thorin in his raven form was... perhaps the most adorable version of him he'd ever been honoured to lay witness to.

But time went on. And yes, they spoke, but the more they did, the worse Bilbo began to feel. Soon enough it weren't only words. There were emotions. Not with him, but with Thorin himself. Usually he'd croak on and on about whatever topic Bilbo tempted, but one night he'd bowed his large head, and had not spoken to him. And Bilbo might actually have felt even worse. Knowing his friend was trapped in there, incapable of being himself... being a bird, all of that...

Bilbo sobbed one night, in his bed, wondering if maybe, just maybe, this shouldn't have happened.

Unlike last time, he did not go so very ill with it. Partially because he could sit down and ask Thorin to sit with him. He would empty his mind, and Thorin would stare, listen, until he understood.

“Perhaps another break would do us both some good,” he told Thorin, while he was eating away some bread. Thorin had looked up from his own meal, a plate with cubes of pork. “To gather our thoughts.”

Thorin croaked at him. “I'm good.”

“Well, _I'm_ not.”

“Why? Why?” Thorin hopped over to him. “Bilbo.”

He sighed deeply, his small hands running down his face. “My dear friend, I'm... _still_ not used to you being what you are. And while you are here, and I am enjoying our time together tremendously, I feel as though I need some room for air.” Thorin cocked his head at him. “I mean, you're not really him, are you? You're still a bird.”

“No. It's me.” Thorin spread his wings.

Even so, Bilbo shook his head and forced out a laugh. “Not really though, are you?”

And Thorin's wings fell slowly, his body sagging.

“Well – what are you expecting of me, Thorin. I enjoy talking to you but you're not – you're not _you._ I miss the dwarf I could speak to.”

Thorin didn't understand. He cocked his head again. “Still talk, Bilbo.”

He sniffed with determination and got up. “I'm sorry. Just give me one week! To straighten my thoughts. In seven days, return to me, and I shall welcome you once more! I will feel much revived, I think.”

A bit against his will, but also due to his own will, he held open the door for Thorin a moment later. The raven sat on the floor beside it, his black beaded eyes bigger than they would usually be. But Bilbo refused to close the door. He needed to breathe. Desperately. And this proved to be too difficult with Thorin constantly flying circles around his head!

And yet... _not_ having him there proved to be even worse.

Oh, how very confused Bilbo Baggins was! Surprisingly enough, this time around he did not even feel so very upset. Although yes, this was one of the many things he was feeling, but he found that, oddly enough, he felt angry above anything else.

“What a fool you must think me, Thorin, son of Thrain,” Bilbo had exclaimed one evening, his pipe resting comfortably between his lips, “Thinking you can just come back here, pretend as though nothing has happened, that all is beautiful and prospering – that we are still on the same terms, no less!”

It made the hobbit shake his head with distaste. Bilbo was so very uptight. He was not angry with Thorin. He would _never_ be angry with Thorin.

He was angry with whatever, or whomever has done this to him. Who has riddled him so, beyond the point of comprehension. To give back that which he desired most to receive, but with such an awful, unfamiliar twist that, frankly... made the gesture rather cruel. This was not like receiving a red sweater when you wanted blue, or asking for an orange and being given a tangerine...

This did not feel like his friend. He did not look like his friend, sound like his friend, _behave_ like his friend.

To our hobbit, this was a bird that was blessed with speech, and just so happened to retain all of Thorin's memories.

That was _it_. Had he not been afraid that, when returning to Erebor, his fond memories would be washed away? That his good memories would be overwritten with perhaps poor, or icky ones?

It was happening. It had begun, and he found it difficult to stop the whirlwind of demoralization.

Sniffling and sighing, our poor, muddled mister Baggins would sit in his house. It was once again cold, yet not nearly as chilly as his own memory had become.

What had been a strong, sturdy man standing before him when they first met, was now intertwined with the idea that Bilbo would have to, upon opening the door, look down at Thorin's small shape on his doormat. He could hardly remember his stance, and the authority he radiated.

He and Thorin had recently spoken of Beorn's cottage, and Thorin had told him he'd found it dreadful and unsanitary. Back then, he and Thorin had sat together on a bench far too large, a pipe in hand, smiles on their faces, saying how much they enjoyed being there. But that was no longer what Bilbo would think of, not anymore.

When Thorin perished, before his eyes, Bilbo would recite said words with a strange crackle in his voice, one that sounded like a raven's. His words had been sweet and tender, now they were ragged and harsh. He could no longer hear the sound of the vulnerability in Thorin's deep voice.

And so every one of his memories began to morph and decay. Bilbo wept that night, by his hearth, the cushion of Thorin's coat in his arms.

Perhaps... it would have been better if Thorin had _never_ returned to him...

 

* * *

 

I suppose it is very agreeable to think Bilbo Baggins's opinion has been swaying. _Drastically_. And this put all recent events lightly!

He has liked the raven, he has disliked the raven. He has hated it and loved it. He has missed it, and he has found it bothersome for being anywhere near him.

Had that very same bird not been his friend, it would not have been the same. He knew this. Had it still been Ra, it might have been easier. He would have made another friend. A new friend, a raven, a very curious creature that was keen on keeping Bilbo's company!

Knowing it was his perished friend had... probably only made matters stranger for him. Or more complicated, he should say, for Bilbo Baggins couldn't think straight after the raven had gone. And perhaps he willed not to accept it, but it's been like that since it first arrived at his door!

Many things have changed. Including our hobbit himself. Sadly, the raven had too.

Bilbo had taken all the time he'd needed. Now – this time was not like the last. He held his composure, ate and drank, bathed and slept. Overall, he only gained health the longer Thorin was removed from him! It was odd to him, being incapable of giving Thorin the right place in his life... but there was very little else he felt he could do.

That was why, when he felt much improved, he sat down outside. A pipe lay in the palm of his hand once more, rings and clouds of smoke swirling around his head as he bathed in the peace and quiet of the Shire. A feeling that had been hard to come by since the battle. Since he left, he should say, though he remembered well having found peace during their journey! Especially in Rivendell, regardless of his full-time job of comforting the fussing and distraught dwarves.

Bilbo smiled, puffing out some smoke as he chuckled.

Yes, he felt much renewed! Perhaps he had not taken the proper time to think this through. With a clear mind, that is. He wondered if he could speak with Thorin about this matter openly, rather than to toss him out again.

But the week was over, and while he has been relishing in the silence, he had made a promise to his friend, and Thorin was therefor once again welcome in his house!

This wish, however, was not mirrored. Bilbo would sit outside every day after the coming of the seventh day, but his face would fall further with disappointment when he would open the door, and Thorin would not be there.

He always returned... Why did he not do this now?

Bilbo walked around in the Shire. First a circle through Hobbiton, then Bywater, slowly enlarging his routes until he'd almost gone to Stock!

And with every trek, he began to feel more hopeless.

“Good morning, mister Bilbo!”

“Oh – good morning,” Bilbo greeted. The old hobbit lass passed him, but it made him stop dead in his tracks. “Lady Floralyn, wasn't it?” he swiftly asked.

The woman stopped walking to turn around, and have a look at Bilbo. “Indeed, good morning!” she said.

“Good morning – did you happen to have seen a raven around and about?” he asked as politely as he could in his hurry. “My raven, to be more precise.”

“Ra the Raven?” she asked.

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, yes quite right! Ra the raven!”

She shook her head, cradling some flowers against her chest. “I think not. Think I saw him two weeks ago!”

Sighing, Bilbo thanked her and continued walking. Thorin left two weeks ago. That was when he'd seen him last, too.

Not entirely discouraged, he began to ask any hobbit he encountered if they had seen Thorin. And quite happy they all were too, wishing him a good morning and striking a small conversation! Bilbo found himself mostly nodding and agreeing to whatever he was being told. As long as they did not know the raven, he had very little interest left to stand and speak.

“He's got quite a big head. Very dark, a bit of a blueish hue. Might say the name Bilbo a lot.”

“No, sorry mister Bilbo.”

Bilbo sighed and nodded at the farmer. “Very well... Good morning.”

“Good morning!”

This was how he moved through the Shire. First in the morning, but then night and day. Whenever he wished, whenever he could not sleep or had no appetite. He did not mind it terribly. What he minded most was that Thorin did not return to him...

Not for a week.... Not for two, not for three. Not even for a month.

Until Bilbo decided there was no use in searching.

Frustrated beyond belief, he settled in his chair by the fire, underneath a thick blanket. Lots of time had passed... Gandalf did not think they would have _much_ time together. That is why Bilbo wept. What if Thorin _couldn't_ come back? What if his soul had already faded, while he had been so generous as to gift Bilbo his space? What if there was only a raven, a shell, one that was busy living its life as a regular bird?

They only had little time left, and it was being wasted...

And _while_ it was being wasted, Bilbo grew more and more convinced.

They would have time together as long as it would make sense. Perhaps, after his outburst... There was no value in it anymore... In being together. Which was why Thorin did not return. To his friend, it would not make sense anymore...

Which would mean one thing, and one thing only.

Their time was up.


	8. When will you understand

 “Ah – it is not like you would be aware of this! No one is! And I do not expect you to! It is always the same with you lot – you are all a very ignorant kind, do you know that? Very ignorant, yes! And by all means, do prove me wrong! Tell me otherwise because believe it or not, I am in dire need of someone telling me that we are in fact doing _right_ by our ways! Oh, what I would not do for a small spark of honesty!”

It was not easy to face Bilbo Baggins that day. This report was given to the others by no other than Tobias, the mailman, who was pale with shock. “I only come and bring the letters, mister Bilbo,” he said carefully. “I meant no offense.”

Fuming, Bilbo stormed over to snatch the three letters from the hobbit's hand. Tobias flinched with actual fear for his life. “No offense indeed...” Bilbo looked down at the mail in his hands, filtering through them swiftly. “Look at them,” he spat bitterly. “Celebrating their birthdays, as though they have not one care in the world!”

Tobias made a sound that could be deemed equal to a whimper. “It be for your party, mister Bilbo...”

Bilbo tore one of the letters open. An invitation, more so a request to throw him a party. “Hm.” Bilbo did not stop frowning. “Very well!” he declared. Then he pointed the letters at poor young Tobias. “But tell them I am _not_ happy with it!”

“Most certainly! Good morning, mister Bilbo!”

And Tobias ran away. Bilbo scowled before he made his way back inside. A party. For him. How very atrocious...

Who could think of a party in times like these?!

Bilbo had only read through the letters briefly before tossing them into the fire. Invitations to visit kindred, friends, whatnot... There had even been a letter written by his favourite cousin, Primula, but even that Bilbo had been too sour for.

Instead he settled by the fire, as any hobbit would, relishing in the scent and taste of some good pipe weed. What else could he do – because he would most certainly not invest his time in a party of some sort! His birthday was still about a month away, for people to already fuss about such useless matters... It went beyond Bilbo as to _why_.

After all, what else could bring joy after having lost your best friend _again_? Was there truly yet any reason out there for him not to be annoyed by the Valar's ways?

There was a cautious knock on his door, but it made Bilbo growl like a feral animal.

Upon opening the door, he found bounder Finco standing there, with his hair golden like an autumn leaf. Bilbo only welcomed his guest with quite a rotten glare. Finco swallowed audibly. “Hullo, mister Bilbo. Good morning. Wonderful weather we're having.”

“ _What_ is it you want?”

“As...” Finco fumbled with his fingers. “As the bounder, I am inclined to ask you not to disturb anyone else again.”

Bilbo huffed. “Outrageous! I have done nothing of such dark colour! I expect you to take your words back, or apologise! Either one is fine, but please do this now, and then leave me be!”

Bounder Finco has never looked so very petite before. “Tobias is but a child, mister Bilbo. We will all benefit if you could be a bit more kind, we will.”

“Nonsense, I did nothing wrong. You, on the other hand, are intruding – “

“Mister Baggins,” Finco said, his voice a bit heavier now. He was finally proving to be a worthy adult, Bilbo thought. Took him long enough. “I must ask you again to stop this vile behaviour, or I will have to file an official complaint.”

“Why would this pose as a threat to me exactly?” Bilbo asked curtly.

“I am not threatening you, it is a warning!” Finco straightened his back. “And this will be your second!”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Oh dear. You were always very dramatic, Finco. You'd do well to find yourself another job.” He eyed Finco from top to bottom with a vicious scowl on his face. “You do not make for a fine bounder at all. My buttons could protect the Shire better than you can.”

“Bilbo Baggins!”

The hobbit froze completely.

The roles had turned in full. Now, Bilbo was the one who dared not move, and Finco who was instantly more at ease.

“Good morning,” Finco said loudly.

The wizard bowed his head at Finco, as politely as he could without his hat falling off his head. “A very good morning indeed, Finco Hornbuckle. I do hope Bilbo Baggins here has not disturbed you.”

It has been long that Bilbo had felt this very ashamed! He had thought that Gandalf would be the worst of it, but he was of course mistaken! From behind his tall, grey robe stepped two dwarves. The ones he loathed to disappoint at all costs... “Inside. _Now_.”

Bilbo obliged at once, having Dwalin nudge against his shoulder. Balin followed his brother and their burglar into Bag End, whereas Gandalf remained outside, trying the best he could to set right what Bilbo had been so busy with trying to destroy.

The hobbit was sat down with quite some force in one of his simple, wooden chairs in the parlour. “Blimey, do be careful!” he cried. “I am not made of stone – “

“Ain't ya? Havin' been scolding all those hobbits,” Dwalin said.

Balin sighed. “Brother, calm down.”

“And what are you doing here? I thought you would return to Erebor,” Bilbo said loudly, looking from one Longbeard to the other. “And how did you know?”

“That, Bilbo Baggins, would have been me.” Gandalf came moving inside now, his back once more bent. However, he could stand... mostly upright in the parlour. “I received very troubling news myself, as have your friends! To see you out of your own skin like this is rather unsettling, if I may say so. This is not who you are!”

“What would you know of it!” he said rudely.

Balin looked at Bilbo with very sorry eyes. “What happened, laddie? Why have ye turned to such violence?”

“I am most certainly not violent,” he said with a huff, folding his arms. If anything, Bilbo Baggins was in absolute denial! “And who told you, then?” Bilbo asked the wizard. “Who has been gossiping? Missy, no doubt! She always speaks beyond her tongue!”

“Oh, now, no need to accuse anyone of anything,” Gandalf said. “Do not feel betrayed, there was only an intention to help. It was one of your friends, no less!”

After having said that, there was a silence.

The hobbit looked up. “Will you not tell me who?”

Gandalf leaned on his staff and sighed. “Give him a moment.”

Bilbo Baggins felt the answer stir unpleasantly in his belly, and he was not proven wrong. A moment later, Thorin came flying inside, a bit dirty but otherwise the same. Although... he had grown. He was yet again a bit larger!

“Thorin!” he cried. “Oh, Thorin!”

While he was overwhelmed with glee and relieve, something inside our hobbit was not right after having seen Thorin again. Even though he could see him there, it was a strong feeling of loss that he felt ache in his heart, one so acute it slipped his throat right shut! A pang so severe he did not know what to do with it at all. Which was odd, wasn't it? Should he not be elated? He's missed him. He has missed Thorin _tremendously_ , and he had no courage to tell anyone otherwise!

But then why did he feel upset? He wished someone could tell him, because he could not figure it out at all! And he was supposedly good with riddles, too... This one, however, was too much for him.

“Thorin returned your friends to you! And right on time, it seems,” Gandalf said. Thorin sat on the hearth, not saying much, even though he _should_ be capable of it. “Had we waited a day longer, you would have turned into quite a nasty animal, and I would not even have needed to swing my staff! Do not underestimate the strength of words, and do not value those above the company of people!”

“Or birds,” Bilbo mumbled sadly.

“What's at play here?” Dwalin asked, his arms tightly folded, his stance harder and more shielded than Bilbo has seen it in months. As though this was their first evening together all over again.

Dwalin and Balin were once again skeptical, and in doubt. This time it did not concern his skill... but his _person_. Which, without a doubt, was a thousand times worse.

“Oh dear me,” Bilbo said sadly, “I meant not to go this far. To gain your mistrust is something I hoped _never_ to do.”

“What of the villagers?” Balin asked, his voice remarkably calm. “Did ye mean for _them_ to?”

“No, goodness me, no! But they do not understand, don't they?” Gandalf's eyes were the only ones to flicker with understanding. “They are all such oblivious folk! And so very gullible, too! I wager they did not tell you that they spread word about me, too!”

Gandalf snorted loudly. “You are no liar, Bilbo Baggins! Stop this behaviour at once!” Shrinking together, Bilbo immediately averted his eyes. What was he thinking, trying to fool a wizard!

But momentarily, it was his only defense for his outrageous behaviour.

“Surely you can tell us.” Balin came moving over, and held onto Bilbo's shoulder. All of them were displeased with the slight jolt of scare from Bilbo the moment Balin's hand touched him. Including the hobbit himself.

Bilbo did not answer him. Instead he sat quiet and withdrawn, afraid to speak.

“Bilbo.” Thorin fluttered his wings. “Talk.”

He did not. In fact, hearing that crackling sound again...

“Balin, Dwalin, if you could please give me and Bilbo here a moment alone, I shall let you know when you are welcome back inside his house! Please do not wait for us, you may return to the rest, in the Green Dragon.”

“The rest?” Bilbo asked, his voice weak.

Gandalf ignored his question, as did the sons of Fundin. The moment they were out, Thorin flew straight to Bilbo and sat on his arm, nudging his big head against Bilbo's shoulder. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for... It is not your fault. None of this.” Bilbo sniffed. “It's all me. I am the black sheep here, no need to deny it! I could not deal with what you are, and... how you...” Bilbo sniffed again.

“How about a drink?” Gandalf asked with an innocent smile. “Nothing like something strong to jog our spirits! Bilbo, my dear fellow, pour us some wine if you would.”

Bilbo fancied himself something stronger. After all of this, the time for simple chit-chat was _over_.

“It's not that I do not cherish Thorin, or his return,” Bilbo ended up explaining. Thorin sat on his knee and Gandalf sat in Bilbo's armchair. “But Gandalf, he is not _him_. And I can't seem to make peace with that. I wish for my friend to return. Surely it might be his soul in there, but I lack what Thorin _was_ to me.”

Gandalf cocked his head. “Many find it difficult to separate reality from wish. This is not your fault.”

Bilbo grimaced. “I know perfectly well the difference.”

“No! It seems that you have them confused.”

“I wish that Thorin was here. _Thorin_ , embodied as a dwarf with his – his two silly braids and his bulky body – “ Thorin began to screech, but Bilbo was quick to scoff. “You can tell me all you want Thorin but you were not _slim_ or otherwise! You were twice my size and I am considered plump for a hobbit! Anyhow – “ Bilbo swiftly shook his head. “That is my wish. This, I know. The reality is that instead there is a bird.”

“Has your wish not already come true?” Gandalf asked. “You have seen Thorin in that shape. And it is only a shape, after all – “

“M-hm, no, not at all,” Bilbo said loudly, shaking his head and wagging his finger. “Not the same, and you can't convince me otherwise!”

The wizard sat back in his chair, grinning weakly at the opposing challenge sitting across from him. “You may wish all you want, Bilbo Baggins, until the days grow darker, the ages change, the hair on your feet tall enough to tickle your very own nose! But this wish shall never come true again. And I might be mistaken, but did you not wish upon the Valar one day to have Thorin back?”

“Well – yes. _Thorin_.”

“Behold!” Gandalf gestured at the bird, who was just busy cleaning underneath his wing. “Ever so majestic.”

“I wished back for what he once was.”

“And instead you were gifted something greater!” Bilbo sighed, still finding this all hard to believe. It made Gandalf hum. “Help me freshen my mind,” Gandalf said with a low voice. “We rode back together, to the Shire. You told me something on horseback.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. Gandalf was without question the biggest _I told you so_ friend of the company...

“I would go back to him if I could, you said. If I could speak to him one last word, I would know exactly what to say! If I could explain myself, I would have! And I would sit him by the fire, and we would laugh like very old friends, indeed!” The hobbit bowed his head, daring not to look at the raven, who was suddenly very attentive, black-beaded eyes focused on nothing but Bilbo. “Alas, I was too late. Now Thorin will never know.” Gandalf cocked his head and smiled. “What did you tell me then, Bilbo?”

Sighing deeply, he began to fumble with the ends of his blouse. “If only...”

“If only!” Gandalf repeated loudly.

If only...

“Your eyes are not misleading you, Bilbo. This is indeed not Thorin in his previous shape. That shall never return. But a shape is merely a shape... The man you had wished to speak to, one last time. The man you had wished to apologise to. The man who has said his final words to _you_. That very same man is sitting in this very room, and blind you may not be... But you seem not to have eye for what is right in front of you.”

It took a moment, but at last the hobbit found the courage to look at the raven.

“Talk.” Thorin cocked his head at him. “Please.”

 _Please_ ... A word Bilbo had not _once_ heard from Thorin's lips. Perhaps that is why it struck Bilbo so very hard. Thorin had never been too well with words, but when spoken, they were always sincere, and truthful. When Thorin would ask something of him, Bilbo would listen. Rather, he would oblige blindly! Had he not followed him, every step he went deeper into madness? And he would have gone further. He would have gone beyond.

And he would not have needed a _please_.

He would have just _done_ it.

“But why not now?” Bilbo asked himself. “I can't seem to take your word for granted.”

“Close your eyes,” Gandalf advised. Bilbo shifted a bit in discomfort. “Do not hear his words. _Listen_ to his words.”

After having been gifted a reassuring smile by the wizard, Bilbo closed his eyes. Even so, still he squirmed and moved, incapable of finding any ease at the moment.

Big claws were set in his knee, curling inward and hurting his flesh. “Bilbo.” The hobbit cringed. It still sounded strange.

That was the sound of a bird. It was not Thorin.

“I'm sorry.”

It was not Thorin.

“I know I wasn't careful.”

It was not Thorin.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf sighed.

He exhaled deeply. “Sorry, Gandalf. I'll have to be excused for needing a pinch more time.” He looked down at Thorin, flashing him a grin. “But you are welcome here, Thorin.”

Thorin squawked and happily drew up his wings.

“I suppose I only need some more time, after all... And I did miss you a lot!” He petted Thorin over his head, emitting that familiar, old sound of the raven's purr from the bird. It made Bilbo smile. “Thank you, Thorin. For granting me this time. It won't be for nothing! I will try the very best I can, and...” Bilbo heaved a deep sigh, bowing his head. “We'll find a way. I will make sure of this. I will.”

“Thank you Bilbo,” Thorin told him.

Sniffling loudly, Bilbo nodded at the raven. “That's quite alright.” Thorin flew up, settling once more on Bilbo's shoulder. Try as he may, but he could not keep himself from smiling, scratching Thorin underneath his chin. “Welcome back, my dear friend... I do hope you can forgive me! I'm terribly sorry of how I have behaved. But no more! This, I swear!”

Thorin nudged his head against Bilbo's, which made Gandalf smile with adore. Bilbo ran his hand down Thorin's feathery body with fondness.

After that, he looked up at Gandalf. “Perhaps now I should retrieve the dwarves, welcome them into my home. I should tell them, shouldn't I?”

Gandalf bowed his head. “It would be the most fair thing to do, Bilbo Baggins. You are not Thorin's only friend.” Bilbo's hum was so very silent it was hardly audible. “You would do them a tremendous service if you tell them. Perhaps it is best if you do! Thorin might not yet be capable of it, and... ah, well, I am very old.”

Bilbo snorted and smiled. “Very old indeed! But you have a great sense of fashion, I must say.”

“Oh. Now.” Gandalf made a couple of flattered noises, but then pushed himself to his feet. “Then that is decided! You shall bring your friends here and share with them this news!”

“Wait, no – no, not me alone.” Bilbo frantically pointed at himself. “I have wronged many hobbits–“

“Which is exactly _why_ you shall be going, and not me,” Gandalf clarified loudly. And Bilbo hated to acknowledge that the wizard looked rather smug doing it.

Was Gandalf wrong to take pleasure in Bilbo's previous behaviour?

Oh no, not at all! It was well deserved! And luckily, Bilbo's manners had not yet rotten far enough for him to understand this.

He pushed himself from his chair, keeping Thorin on his forearm. “Thorin, you and I shall give them a hospitable home to stay in! And by all means, if I again try and shoo you away, peck me all you will!”

Because he would indeed be crazy to lose sight of Thorin _ever_ again!

 

* * *

 

“Say it.”

“Well I never – “

“ _Say it_.”

Never before in his life had he been put on the spot like this, and he did not like it! Not one bit! Had Dwalin told him this at home, surely he could've thought it reasonable! But to mother him in front of his very best friend, Hamfast! What a tragedy!

Bilbo cocked his head and sighed, looking at his friend. “The hair on my feet was strung tight and I...” Bilbo made fists and looked up at Dwalin with a scowl. The dwarf stood there, static and stoic, his arms folded tightly to accentuate his muscles. A little gem he learned from Fili – when taking that stance, Dwalin was being nothing but a show-off.

It did not, however, abate Bilbo's tremendous shame.

“On ya go,” Dwalin said.

Bilbo looked back at Hamfast. “The hair on my feet was strung tight and I did not look in the mirror that very morning, my hair was messy, more messy than per usual. This interfered with my...” Bilbo sighed deeply, his eyes fluttering, “hobbit-emotions... I had not kept your feelings in regard and I am here to offer my apologies.”

Like everybody had done, old Gaffer laughed. One punishment would be to go to everyone and say sorry. The _dwarves_ , on the other hand, enjoyed it much more to add a bit more sugar to sweetness.

“No hard feelings, mister Bilbo!” Hamfast assured him at once.

A strangled half-chuckle came from Bilbo, one so very forced and unamused. “Good morning then.”

“Ah – no ya don't.” Dwalin stopped the hobbit without effort by doing nothing but pressing his hand against Bilbo's chest. “Say it.”

“I shan't! What must he think of me!”

Dwalin frowned deeply. “Don't make me...”

“I am not afraid of you, Dwalin, and I am most certainly not of your axes!”

“Oh, but I can change that.”

And so a game of stare began, both with deeply furrowed brows, both determined to radiate fear and power. In the end, it wasn't entirely illogical that Bilbo lost. After letting his eyes wander across Dwalin's body, seeing how large he was and tall – and he had tattoos! That must have _hurt_ , Bilbo could hardly imagine otherwise!

No! No, how could he possibly feel more superior than someone with tattoos!

Bilbo spun around once more to face Hamfast. “After all, I am a very curious small thing, quite unlike the astounding race of dwarves! Next time when I raise my voice I invite you to come and visit, and laugh at my poor manners, as well as my pointy ears! Good morning!”

After that, he took his chance and spurted off, making sure _not_ to look behind!

Back in his house, he made his way straight to his washroom, where he moved over to the basin to rinse his face. If he could, he would wash his mouth, too. He did say some monstrous things, things he did truly regret... Not whatever speech Dwalin had made up for him as his apology, but what he said when he was... well, probably overreacting. As per usual, he heard himself think.

There was a knock on his door. “Are ya 'right, laddie?”

“Yes, I am well,” he told Bifur. “One moment, please!”

Perhaps he had to do something during his party. Being thought of as mad was one thing, but it was indeed getting out of hand if he were to yell at his friends, and neighbours! Oh no, that would not only scar his reputation, but his own self! And he already had so very little respect for himself as it was.

Another knock. “Mister Bilbo, are you in there?”

Bilbo looked at the door, even though there was nothing to look at. “I am indeed!”

“Are you well?”

“I am well,” he said to Dori. “I will be out in a second!”

He had to compose himself. Yelling at others is _not_ the way of hobbits, and it was never the way of _him_! While he could be frustrated by the non-stop chatter of daily business, about a rotten pumpkin or an egg that's been boiled too hard, he would always smile and always remain polite, regardless of what he was being told!

There was a soft tick that drew Bilbo from his thought this time around. “Yes?” he asked, slightly annoyed.

“Bilbo.”

He caught himself sighing with relief, and smiled.

“In! Please.”

Unlike with the others, Bilbo did not hesitate for a second! Instead, he moved for the door immediately and opened it to let Thorin bounce in. He fluttered his wings to boost himself up from the floor a bit once in a while, but never truly flew. “What brings you here, Thorin?” Bilbo asked.

“Worry.”

“Ah. As ever.” He simply scooped Thorin up. He cawed and flapped his wings, but Bilbo did not mind! One might think it counted as abuse, but Bilbo knew better. Thorin was nothing but plain stubborn, and was rarely actually displeased with whatever stunt Bilbo pulled on him.

Bilbo set Thorin on the edge of his tub, where he hopped restlessly from left to right. “Don't carry,” he croaked.

“I enjoy carrying you, I fear! You will have little choice.” Bilbo drew a small stool closer to sit down on it, to look at Thorin... though _still_ a raven, face to face.

And while Bilbo had felt such a strong repel towards Thorin, most of it had gone... Yes, you might call him a fool, because he definitely did so himself! How could he _ever_ have sent Thorin away? There was something so very charming about this bird. Perhaps not... _Thorin_ , but... the bird! He's ever liked to have pets, seeing they were not actual hobbits; they would be affectionate but would not ask for conversation.

“I truly do regret having asked you to leave! It was a waste of very precious time, was it not.”

Thorin ruffled his feathers. “I'm not mad.”

“I'm glad to hear that. I truly am.” Bilbo smiled widely, leaning very closely to Thorin. So much so that Thorin's discomfort was palpable. “Did you enjoy flying?”

“Yes. Air.” Thorin nuzzled on the spot, which made Bilbo hum with awe.

“I suppose you are very lucky then that you returned as a bird!” Bilbo chimed, booping Thorin on his curved beak.

And not a moment later, Thorin was screeching wildly, exploding into a swollen ball of feathers and immediately biting at Bilbo's finger.

“Ah – why did you do that?!” Bilbo cried. Thorin continued to screech, and if he had a face, it surely would've gone red like a prizewinning tomato with anger! Thorin shrieked, wings thrashing frantically, his beak snapping repeatedly at Bilbo before he flew away, having disappeared in a blink of Bilbo's eyes. “What in the name of Aule?!” Bilbo exclaimed, but then he gasped a silent _oh_. “Well, Bilbo, you have no one to blame but yourself,” he said, thinking back to the letter Ori had once written him. “They'll bite and scream bloody murder! You're quite the inattentive one, you are.”

One thing he did know for sure was that this hadn't dampened his spirits! In fact, it roused quite a warm atmosphere, meeting the others with a bloody finger. How they all huddled up a moment later, acts and words of worry that blossomed into the most wonderful tales and the most joyous laughter!

“Perhaps ya should teach yer bird to apologise.”

“Ah, well I tempted it,” Bilbo said in Thorin's defense. Mainly because he had long noticed Thorin sitting not far from them, looking down at them with what he could only assume was guilt. “Besides, he is not always very vocal when saying sorry. Instead he tends to bring me peace offerings!”

“Just like us,” Balin remarked. “But I suppose it's only logical for ravens to pick up the habits of dwarves.”

Bilbo pressed his lips together, bowing his head briefly. Perhaps... now was the time to tell them. And yes, it's easy to think that Bilbo should long have told them, but it was not that easy! To claim that this very bird was their best friend, their leader, their _kin_! And if Bilbo had taken the news so very poorly... what would that mean for _them_?

More specifically, Bilbo found himself thinking; Balin and Dwalin. Would they not get hurt beyond healing? Oh, Bilbo could not even imagine how they must feel!

Oin had bound Bilbo's finger nicely when Thorin came swooping in, landing on the table right before all the dwarves, and the hobbit. In his beak he helda tall, slim candlestick. Thorin set it down on the table and croaked. “Stick.”

“Ah! A candle! What a wonderful gesture, Thorin, thank you!” Thorin bowed his large head before he flew away again. “See? I trained him very well!”

“It's very impressive!” Oin complimented. Even though it was not Bilbo's to receive, he beamed with pride as though he had grown Thorin in his very own garden! “It'll take most ravens many years before they teach tricks as such! I have of course been training my own... I taught one of them to pluck their own feathers and hand one to me when they had done something wrong!”

“Oh dear! How very special! Did you train many ravens?”

Oin cocked his head and laughed. “I would not wish to brag, but – “

“Ah, ya always brag about the birds, brother,” Gloin complained, moving right past them. Bilbo bore a grand smile. He's never had any siblings of his own, and he always felt a warmth pool in his heart to see these brothers interact with one another.

Oin pushed his ear-trumpet further into his ear canal. “Wha's that? A sentence that _isn't_ about Gimli?”

Gloin grunted with anger. “He's quite somethin' to be proud of!”

“And my birds aren't?” Oin cried.

And thus began the battle between Groin's sons. Bilbo smiled, his cheeks round and red. If it was up to him, he'd never let the dwarves leave again!

Bilbo instead began to amuse himself in the kitchen, as any hobbit would when bored. Thorin was quick to fly over, and settle on his shoulder. Bilbo smiled at the raven best he could without bumping him away, or taking a mouthful of feathers. “You are getting a bit big to sit on here, Thorin,” Bilbo said. It did not make one single muscle move in Thorin's body. He still sat on his favourite spot, comfortable and nestled. “Ah, I suppose you should while you still can...” As lightly as he could, he began to scratch Thorin underneath his beak once more. “Soon you will grow even bigger, I have been told! And to think you have already outgrown me when I was born!”

Thorin suddenly perked up, having gone even taller as he extended his neck. “Someone is outside.”

“I do hope so! It would be a rather dreary scenario if Arda would be removed from – “

“Out. Out!” Thorin suddenly flew away, croaking as he went. “Out! Out!”

Thorin flew straight to the door, and it was Ori who merrily hurried after the raven, so that he could open the round door. Bilbo heard the distant cawing as Thorin flew outside, and almost startled to see him suddenly by the window.

“Someone's here,” Thorin repeated, hopping rather nervously on the windowsill. He began to tick his beak against the glass. “Bilbo.”

“Well, you are! I see no one else!”

Thorin snapped his beak angrily.

“I am _not_ coming outside! You can go protect us by yourself if you so wish!”

Ori stood behind Bilbo, looking over his shoulder at Thorin with much interest. “Perhaps I should go and check,” Ori offered. “I could take my slingshot.”

“Yes!”

“No – Thorin, stop it,” Bilbo scolded. Thorin flew away after that. “Please, do not listen to him. He's just a bird.”

Ori took the answer for granted, nodding briefly before shuffling away. Dwalin, however, stood not far removed from them, his arms tightly folded. He didn't entirely agree, and was not afraid to voice it. Was he ever? “He's a special one, he is... I ken it's just a name, but he does reminds me of Thorin at times.”

Bilbo sighed quietly. He could see why...

Dwalin grinned with sentiment. “Take good care of him, Bilbo... That bird is worth a king's ransom.”

“Yes, yes... Thank you, of course.” Dwalin smiled at Bilbo before he turned away, disappearing into Bag End.

Exhaling his nerves, Bilbo turned around and looked back outside, through the small window. Thorin was flying around, pecking at bushes and flowers. He honestly had no idea what had caused Thorin to get this worked up. Eventually he did sound triumphant and was rushing back inside, only to drop a muddy, writhing worm on the palm of Bilbo's hand. “You are safe,” Thorin declared.

The way that made Bilbo feel – a simple statement like that, a gesture like this... The flutter in his heart, the small, happy stirring that came with...

No... He could not keep the others deprived from this, not while there was still opportunity, and time... He had to tell them.


	9. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is a small, personal note._ I wanted to share with you the music I have been playing pretty much from this chapter to the end of my story. The soundtrack 'Faith' by Bear McCreary has been the theme of my story. Everything written from here on out was on this music. 
> 
> I am not at all forcing you to listen to this, or telling to put on music at all, but this has helped me delve deeper into the emotions behind my characters, and helped me bury myself into their grief (especially in the next chapters). Might you wish to listen to it, or only to have an idea what kind of music I used for inspiration/emotion, here is my personal [theme for my story](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=ucWRD_Rs3To&s=107&e=206#Outlander_Season_2_OST_~_Faith) ♫ (this is the original piece of music and has not been edited/created by me)

All the dwarves were watching him intently, one looking more elated than the next. Bilbo smiled at them before he leaned down, carefully setting the small acorn in the pit of mud. “There. This should do it.”

“It'll grow into a tree?” Bofur asked.

Bilbo nodded at him. “Indeed, it shall! If I treat it with water and love, that is. But it should sprout and from it should grow a tree. Perhaps if you return in thirty years, you can sit in its shade!”

Thorin hopped towards the small ditch and looked down into it. Bilbo chuckled, as did some dwarves. “Who begins?” Thorin asked.

“How about you do, my friend?” Bilbo offered.

All of the dwarves gathered, sitting a bit closer so they were in a circle around this small acorn. Thorin was the first to fill the hole with dirt. There was little he could do, but he managed just fine nudging some clumps of dirt with his beak. After that went Nori, who sat on Thorin's right. He scooped a handful of dirt into his hands and he too deposited it in the hole.

One after the other, a dwarf picked up some dirt and covered the acorn with it. Though he wouldn't like to admit it, Bilbo was slightly emotional about this very act. All of them were so tender about it, their scarred, battle-hardened hands, carrying mud as though they were cupping a baby duckling! And more often than not they would glance up at Bilbo, seeking his approval. When Bilbo would nod his head briefly, the dwarf would smile and retreat, glad to have accomplished their goal.

Bilbo was the last to put down some dirt, and took the chore upon himself to pat the dirt, until the small heap was equal to the ground. “There.” He sniffled and nodded briefly. “This ought to do the trick.”

This was not something dwarves would do on their own initiative. Quite the contrary! That was what had made this ordeal so achingly special to Bilbo. To see them so very involved, and respectful about his customs and cultures... He could not have asked for any better friends!

That was mainly why Bilbo scraped his throat. The dwarves had begun chatting amongst themselves, but were quick to halt, and shift their attention to the hobbit. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For this... For planting a tree with me.”

“Ye're very welcome, laddie,” Balin hummed. Balin sat to his left, and made sure to pat Bilbo on his muddy hand.

He opened his mouth to tell them more, to spill all the beans he's been hoarding... but nothing came.

Because of this, the dwarves continued about their own business.

Bilbo sighed deeply, bowing his head. The softness of Thorin's feathers smoothed past his hand. Thorin was nudging his head against Bilbo's hand and was croaking silently. “I'll do it,” he whispered to him. “I promise...”

The raven took Bilbo's blouse in his beak and pulled at it. This was something he usually never did, which struck Bilbo as odd. Luckily, before he began to doubt whether or not Thorin might have already left, the raven hopped on his knee and sat there. “Will you watch it grow?”

“I will. I shall come and visit it every day. This will be our tree. The tree of the company of Thorin Oakenshield!” He looked down at Thorin with a wry smile. “I do hope they will learn to cherish this. After all, you said it yourself, dwarves value little else above gold... I know for a fact you didn't, at the end of our journey.”

Thorin hopped a bit closer, his black eyes meeting Bilbo's. “That is not true. I valued you above gold...”

Bilbo blinked hard and looked up suddenly, taken aback by those words. But before Bilbo could say anything, Dwalin patted him firmly onto his shoulder, so hard our hobbit's entire body shook! “We'll be needin' some water! Is there a pump nearby?”

“Oh – er – “ Bilbo had _no_ mind at all to think of pumps and water! Had Thorin just said –

“There is one down the hill, I think,” Balin hummed in thought.

“Aye, I think so too. Thorin, can ya scout the lands for us?” Dwalin asked. Annoyed beyond belief, Bilbo frowned at nothing in particular to feel Thorin disappear from his knee, and hear him fly through the air. “Quite a handy one, he is!” Dwalin said, watching the raven fly away with his hand blocking the light of the sun. “I think I'll be wanting me own!”

How did Dwalin _always_ manage...

“We should get going soon,” Balin said. “The market is about to close down and we promised to purchase something for Dis.”

Again, absolutely dumbfound by the speech of the dwarves, he looked at his side. “Dis?” he asked. Balin glanced up at him. “Is she here?”

“Aye. Have ya not been informed – “

“No! No, none of you blasted drarves inform me about anything!” he cried. “You with all your secrets! Has Dis been here all this time? In the Shire?” Balin averted his eyes as his answer. “Oh, you bloody lot! Why have you not told me? Does Thorin know?”

Dwalin looked down at Bilbo. “What would yer bird care if she's here or not?”

“Well.” He scraped his throat. That was the only answer he could give them without sounding like a professional idiot...

Most of the dwarves sat in small groups, and at the moment, Bilbo was no different. He, Balin and Dwalin formed their own small circle, the three of them sitting in the grass on the hill. “Dis didn't initially want to come with,” Balin said. “But we insisted. So to answer yer previous question, aye, Thorin knows.”

“Why would you insist? Did she not want to come?”

Dwalin shook his head. “She has no interest for hobbits and their whereabouts. Not even a friend of her kin. The only reason she came with is 'cause we needed her to. The lass is very vulnerable at the moment, and we need her not to be alone...”

“That, and Dwalin here has always had an eye on her – “ Dwalin jabbed his older brother in his side with his elbow, which made Balin chuckle.

“I told ya, tha's a rumour the lads started!”

“Mm, of course they have,” Balin mused.

Bilbo grimaced. “She's in the inn now, then? I have not heard of her yet...”

“She's averted to come. The lass has been refusing to see you since, she said she was still slightly weary with travel, and if she'd meet ya, she'd rather do it in private.”

That, Bilbo could very well understand. “If I should meet her, I too would wish it to be so. Just the two of us. Could you tell her this, perhaps? I'm sure that I am not welcome in her chamber, so please, if you do see her, ask her if she will see me.”

Balin looked somewhat troubled. “I suppose I could try and convince her to come now.”

“No... Perhaps tomorrow,” Bilbo said. “Yes. That would be best. Or the day after tomorrow. Or next week – whenever she sees fit!”

No. That was unfair. Postponing their meeting made Bilbo feel better, and less burdened, but it should not be so. He couldn't let lady Dis wait a day longer. She was Thorin's _sister_ , and if anyone should have priority, that should be her.

That was why Bilbo squared his shoulders. “Tomorrow. Please propose to her that we should meet tomorrow.”

“I will see to it,” Balin promised.

That... well, that wasn't just one worry less, that was a heap of new ones right on top of his already heavy heart. Bilbo actually did begin to feel a bit queasy, already afraid of what was yet to come.

Bifur helped cheer him up by hurrying up the hill, waving his waterskin in the air. They all gathered back around, taking turns to pour a bit of water over their patch of disturbed soil. Bilbo could not wait to see a sapling emerge from the ground! It was not Beorn's acorn, but he was more than relieved that he could fulfill the last of Thorin's wishes. He would most certainly watch this grow, and he would do so every day. He would sit underneath on a warm day and seek shelter from the rain here, while sitting leisurely with a pipe between his lips and a book in his hands!

“Splendid!” Bilbo clapped his hands together the moment the waterskin had gone empty. “This oak tree shall grow strong, no doubt, and it shall be ours! A shame that Fili and Kili could not be here, but their memories shall forever remain linked to this wonderful piece of nature!”

It was Dwalin who looked up. “What of Thorin?” He sounded sincerely hurt.

Again, Bilbo felt rather overwhelmed with nausea. “Er...” He wrung his hands together, looking at all the dwarves. “How about we sit down? Find a quiet place beyond the hills. There is something I wish to share with you all.”

Speaking in a morose tone hadn't roused much optimism. All the dwarves erupted with worry, wondering if Bilbo was perhaps ill, or dying, or – as Gloin proclaimed to be worse, running out of gold! And quieting them down took some doing, too. In the end he managed well to bring them elsewhere, removed far from civilization. Or, well, far enough so that no one could hear them, not even if they would suddenly sound a battle-cry. Why they would do that, don't ask Bilbo, but he's seen them do worse!

Over the hills nearby by a creek they all settled again, and at this point, Bilbo was shaking so very badly he wondered if he might accidentally throw out his lunch! “Are ya alright, laddie?” Bofur had asked, his hand gripping onto Bilbo's shoulder.

He could not even tell him a white lie. He felt very poorly...

And he was certain that Thorin had meant to comfort him by sitting down on his thigh, but it had resulted in the opposite. It made him feel _that_ much worse.

“He's going very white,” he overheard Bombur whisper.

“Are ya very sick?”

“Do you need some water?”

“Maybe he should lie down!”

Bilbo grumbled, his hands balling to fists. “Stop it, enough. I – I'm well – “

“Oh dear, he might faint again!”

“We should return back!”

“Aye, we must go home – “

“ _Quiet_!”

All of the dwarves ceased their chatting in an instant. They were all very much surprised, but not nearly as much as Bilbo was himself!

Thorin hopped off Bilbo's lap, looking at each and every dwarf around him. “Enough. _Listen_ to Bilbo.” The hobbit shriveled entirely when all dwarves looked at him. Thorin bounced over to Bilbo then. “Or must I?”

“No, no, I – I can...” He fumbled with his fingers, sniffing. “I can.”

“I could,” Thorin offered, cocking his head left and right, searching for what Bilbo wished for. Rather, what he needed.

The suggestion was generous, but Bilbo felt as though it was not Thorin's problem to solve. Bilbo had been the one to prolong, to make such a mess, to have kept it from all his friends. Though yes – Thorin _could_ have said, and... Bilbo wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't. Perhaps Thorin and his own thoughts aligned. Thorin could speak, but it was not the same. The raven could never speak with a serenity in its voice, it could not translate emotions well. Thorin might say the most touching thing but might accentuate it with a soft snap, convincing the dwarves Thorin had meant nothing but ill...

Bilbo had fallen in this very trap numerous of times already, and dwarves could be remarkably touchy when it concerned loyalty and brotherhood.

“Very well,” Bilbo said silently, after having heaved a deep breath of the crisp, cool air around them. “Before I start my tale, I feel as though I owe you all my sincerest apologies... I have been very selfish. Yes, very selfish indeed, though it was not my intent... If anything, I only wanted your feelings spared...”

He has only said so very little, but already a hand settled on his shoulder for support.

“This does not concern me, I need you all to know, before you start to worry. I'm quite healthy, and although I have been... a bit out of whack, one might say, all was well with me... Though, one could argue – let's agree that I wasn't emotionally stable, but aside from that – “

“We ken,” Gloin coaxed.

Bilbo sniffed and sighed. “And quite honestly, I'm still not entirely... well...” He looked down at Thorin, who was watching him closely. “I wish I were. Certainly it would make this easier... But that will come.” He looked directly at Oin this time. All the others were alerted, knowing very well Oin was their _healer_. Any disease or sickness, and you would direct your attention to Oin. “Please aid me in this, my dear friend. We have spoken about this matter before, your insight has proven exceedingly helpful.”

Oin nodded at Bilbo, though did this very subtly. “Anythin' ya need of me, Bilbo.”

“Good. Good...” Bilbo reached out to pet Thorin. “A while back, during your... I think your first visit. We sat by the fire, you and I, on a late evening in the early days of summer. Do you remember?”

Almost at once, Oin looked a bit shocked. However, he betray nothing yet. “Aye.”

“We discussed something peculiar. I'd almost declared you insane that day.” Bilbo scraped his throat. “Sorry about that.”

All the dwarves remained deadly silent.

Bilbo sniffed. “Do excuse me...”

“Laddie?” Balin murmured anxiously.

The hobbit blinked before he continued, “For those of you that do not know, Oin and I spoke of a myth carried by your folk. Something that yet remains a mystery, as far as I'm concerned – “

“No,” Oin whispered. All of them looked up, save from Bilbo, who almost shrank together. “It canna be...”

“What?”

“What is it?”

The nine dwarves were in immediate distress, so Bilbo shook his head. “Again, Oin and I were chatting about my raven here. He had only just come to me at the time, could barely speak, I wonder how many of you remember...” Bilbo grinned weakly, but he could feel tears swell in his eyes. “He was a bit smaller then, too...” Thorin cocked his head and croaked wordlessly, looking up at Bilbo. “And he was so very curious at the time... I suppose tidings were better, in the past. Things were simpler...”

The hand that had been warming his shoulder squeezed it a fraction harder. “Is something wrong with the raven, Bilbo?” Balin asked sympathetically.

And while Bilbo did not confirm this theory, all the faces of the dwarves fell.

“No, no, Thorin is quite well. I was being a bit sentimental, I believe, do please excuse me for this.” He sniffed again, feeling his nose starting to get full. “I'm delaying the inevitable.”

“Please tell us,” Bofur said. Perhaps it was the wind, or the distance between them, but Bofur's voice sounded as though it was wobbly. Not only that, but he was clutching his hat in his hands, that were also trembling weakly.

He was torturing them. Every single one of them... Including his very self.

That's why he manned up after having drawn his next breath. “Oin and I discussed ravens, and their duties to the dwarves. Why they existed, why they were so very loyal...” While the others were ever as puzzled, Oin teared up at once, averting his head from the others. “And while this was very interesting, he had told me something more fascinating than any other story he's ever told... For with this mysterious tale came the revelation that ravens sometimes... cradle the souls of those who have passed...”

Never before had Bilbo heard the Shire this quiet...

There was not a single sound but the buzzing in his ears.

“Brother...?” Gloin asked quietly. They all looked at Oin. “What is he sayin'?”

Oin, who was the only one in the group who had started shedding tears, shook his head. “He's called his bird Thorin.”

Bilbo almost sobbed on accident when they all looked at him, their eyes bigger than he's ever seen them. “Is this true?” Balin asked, his voice a mere, broken whisper in Bilbo's ear.

He had to swallow past a nasty lump in his throat before he could speak again. “I'm so very sorry... I know I should have told you all sooner...”

“Is that him?” Dwalin asked. Bilbo has never before seen him upset, and it struck the poor hobbit _hard_.

The lack of response from his side, however, didn't do the dwarves much good.

“Thorin? Brother?” Dwalin dared to ask. As careful as a huge, muscled dwarf could be, Dwalin inched closer to the raven, who was still sitting in the grass, in the midst of all his friends and kindred. “Is... is the hobbit right? Is he?”

Thorin's head moved around, looking at every single dwarf before he moved closer to Dwalin.

Being nervous enough to gnaw off his fingers, Bilbo watched, his eyes full of tears. Thorin was only watching Dwalin, and sometimes the others... but he did not speak.

It aggravated Dwalin beyond belief. “Liar!” he yelled. “Ye treacherous halfling, what makes ya think ya can play us like this – “

“Stop! No!” Thorin hopped towards Dwalin. “It's me.”

And Dwalin slowly sank back down to the ground.

“It's me...”

The silence that overtook the camp was more painful than any Bilbo has ever sat through. It clung negatively at his chest, made it near difficult to draw breath.

The worst of it was that Bilbo did not know what to do but watch. Watch while his friends began to crumble, or fought their confusion. Watch how they stared at the raven with disbelief, with anticipation, with wonder... He heaved a shaky breath, drawing his knees against his own body to protect himself.

This was what he's been so very afraid of...

He's hurt them. He has hurt every single one of them...

Bilbo let out a little whimper, not daring to look at any of them.

“Is that possible?” Nori, a dwarf who has ever been sure and steadfast, was trying to find confirmation in his companions so very desperately.

Thorin looked around again. “My friends...” Bilbo had to force himself to breathe, having heard several upsetting noises from the dwarves at that statement. Nothing more than a soft croak... but a croak from their _friend_...

“How long?” Dwalin asked. “For how long..?”

Bilbo sobbed. “Since the battle. He came to me a... a bit before you all arrived...”

“Don't be mad at Bilbo,” Thorin begged, the very moment Dwalin's face began to darken. “It is not his fault.”

But could Bilbo really blame Dwalin for needing to toss a punch? Like mentioned before, Bilbo has _never_ seen Dwalin upset before, and to him it was already quite something that he saw Dwalin on the verge of crying, his entire body shaking and his fists constantly clenching, tears that had already been running down his face.

“Oh Dwalin, I am so very sorry,” Bilbo breathed sadly. “I had wished to tell you, truly... But I knew I would hurt you, and I didn't know how I...” He shook his head, not knowing what else to say... or _how_ to say it...

Dwalin ground his teeth before he fell back into the grass, hiding himself behind battered hands. “Dwalin.” Thorin moved closer, every hop more tentative than the one before, until he did reach his old friend. “Hold me.”

Dwalin did not even twitch.

“Brother, please.” Thorin nudged his head against Dwalin's leg. “It's me.”

Bilbo leaned into Balin, who had begun to sob.

Thorin continued to establish contact, but Dwalin sat unmoving. The sound of sniffling and laboured breathing overtook the group of dwarves. The ones who hadn't seen their leader since he lay on a tomb of green stone, involuntarily at rest, in halls darker than any shade on the earth. Where he lay with a beard too short, and too many desires unresolved.

“Why didn't ya wait?” Dwalin eventually managed to utter. “If ya had given me one more second, Thorin...”

“He had to die. There was no second... I'm sorry.”

Having said that, something Bilbo could _never_ have taught a raven to say, something so evident, so close to character...

Those who were sniffling started sobbing, and sadly, those who had already been sobbing, were near to weeping. Bilbo had to actually draw Balin into his arms, hushing him best he could when he began to weep. “Och, Balin,” Bilbo cooed, heartbroken. He could hardly master the strength to look at Thorin himself.

Thorin turned his head. Dwalin offered him no physical attention, allowing the bird a second to move away. “You helped me. You helped take back my mountain. _Our_ mountain. You stayed with me when I was sick. I could not have asked for _anyone_ better than you, my friends... You followed me in my descend into madness, and trusted me after I had mistreated you..”

“You could never mistreat us,” Ori sobbed. “You were our friend...”

As quick as was possible, Thorin flew at Ori. The youngest dwarf welcomed Thorin into his arms, and cuddled him as he broke down crying. Dori made sure to draw Ori into his side, but it did not still Ori's grief in the slightest.

“Sorry, Ori,” Thorin croaked quietly, nudging himself against Ori's chest. “Young, brave Ori, my nephew beyond my kin...”

“Why didn't ya tell us?” Dwalin dared to ask. “Why did ya not tell _me_?”

Thorin lay his head against Ori's chest again, and while it took Ori all the strength he had, he managed to release Thorin. The very second he had, Ori buried himself against his oldest brother.

Thorin, on the other hand, flew over to Dwalin again. “You were always impatient.”

Dwalin ground his teeth at once. “I _hate_ you.”

Thorin hopped from the ground and flew into Dwalin's arms, where he was held tightly. “I hate you too,” Thorin croaked affectionately.

And while most of the company broke apart further at the comment, Dwalin's angry features began to relax as he held onto the animal with his dear life, his bald head nudging against the raven's with the greatest delicacy in the world.

After having held Dwalin, Thorin flew straight to Balin, who wept loudest of them all, though with a very distant hint of joy. Bilbo's laugh was broken and masked with sorrow, but he held onto Balin fondly, watching him take the raven into his arms. “Even death has not been kind to you,” Balin wept. “What have ya done to deserve this? You were the finest man I have ever known! None of this should have happened, _none_ of this!”

“I'm happy,” Thorin said. “I promise, Balin... How can death be unkind if I can hold _you_ again?”

“You should have been king! You were _made_ to be a king! You were ours, how could Mahal have been so cruel? Why should he rob you of this!”

Thorin cawed with pity. “I'm not sad. I was happy to be your king. To all of you. Every one of you. I cherished that far more than any other crown that could ever sit on my head.”

“It's unfair, so very unfair!” Balin exclaimed angrily, tripping over his own words as he cried. Bilbo made sure to hold the dwarf again, as closely as he could, so that he might feel more at ease. “I would have followed you anywhere.”

“You have,” Thorin assured his old friend. “And I am glad you did not follow me here...”

“I'd wished. As I'm sure many of us were,” Balin sobbed. “What of the lads? Fili and Kili...? Have you seen them?”

Thorin cocked his head, but did not respond. Bilbo felt the silence to that question pang in his heart.

Bilbo was touched beyond belief to see Thorin respond to all of them, keeping every single dwarf in their own value. He did not quiet anyone down, did not ask for them to stop, or to behave, as a parent could sometimes do. He did no such thing... Thorin remained ever respectful, and offered every dwarf the words, deeds and time they deserved.

Beside Balin sat Bifur. The usually rough and loud dwarf was very serene, holding Thorin like a cat in his lap, patting him continuously while muttering to him in Khuzdul, as he always has to him. And while Thorin wouldn't be able to understand, he leaned into Bifur's hold and let himself be talked to. Only the dwarves knew what Bifur was muttering, and Bilbo was assured that he said nothing but positive, and kind words, for the dwarves could barely keep themselves together at what Bifur was whispering. What Bifur was saying exactly were words of comfort Thorin had once dedicated to him, when he lay on his deathbed for being embedded with an axe. When Thorin had spend many days and nights by the side of his bed, making sure he would be alright, and not leaving before he was certain.

Nori had needed time. In fact, Bilbo recognised himself a bit in Nori... The dwarf had looked at Thorin, studied him, wondered if his eyes were taking him for fool. Nori had swallowed and petted Thorin. He's never felt a very close bond to the raven as it was, and this was tangible, even now. But Thorin had croaked at him, “Don't steal any of my feathers. I can outrun you now.” That had been the sentence that broke Nori, and while he did not display his affection by hugging the raven in his arms, he cradled his big body in his hands and pressed their brows together until the dwarf could breathe again.

Bofur wasn't weeping, but was kicked out of his very self, it seemed. His face draped in a way Bilbo hoped never to lay witness to... One could even argue it was worse than it had been at the burial of Durin's youngest children. But quite like his cousin, he took Thorin into his arms completely, his eyes somewhat blank and glassy. For a man so very joyous and optimistic, this looked to go far beyond his wildest imagination, and had broken something deep down in his oversized heart. Thorin sat with him for very long, gifting Bofur many words of encouragement. The most heartbreaking had been when Thorin asked quietly for a song. One that had once been the merriest song to be sung in Rivendell had gone weak and depressed, lackluster and shallow...

Bombur was happy to hold Thorin. Whether this was again, or this was a first, Bilbo did not know, but Bombur was more than elated to be in contact with him. In fact, their chatter about Thorin's new cravings as a bird had some dwarves grin, and in some rare occasions, chuckle. Bombur even asked if he could prepare the raven a nice meal, but even as they were chatting, his voice lost strength and went from light to dark, until there was a strange crackle in his voice, and he wished to talk no more. He only held Thorin, and petted him, until he could once again grin.

Dori was a bit messy with tears and was sobbing hard while he had the honour to be with Thorin again. However, he did not know what to say at first. All he could really do was hold Thorin, until he let out the saddest laugh. Dori had found his peace. He was beaming as he held onto the raven, as though he'd finally found what he had been looking for. A spark of recognition in Thorin's deep, black eyes. Many men have respected Thorin, but Dori has been with Thorin most of his life. Having lost a life-long friend, and to be able to reunite with him again had taken a tremendous weight off Dori's heart, and the strongest, yet politest dwarf of the company managed to set Thorin down with a lovely smile of closure.

Gloin had wept hard. Very hard. It had been unexpected, for Bilbo had ever seen him tough and composed. Gloin, as one of Thorin's cousins, had spend much of his life with him, and dedicated _years_ to him, as it had been the other way around. Gloin had not lost only a friend, but one of his favourite cousins. Not only his nephews, but the best friends of his own son. The emptiness he had been met with had been far too overwhelming. Knowing Thorin was still there, even for a short period of time, had in a way crushed his heart anew, revived some of his fondest memories as them as a family, a set of dear friends... He hugged Thorin against his full, orange beard and thanked him – thanked him constantly for looking after him, his wife, his boy, and everybody else he has ever known.

Oin might have had his suspicions, but this wasn't apparent. Yes, he had been provided a minute more to mourn than the rest, but this had made very little difference, for he was quick to hold Thorin as well. He asked Thorin if there was something they could do, something to bring him back to them, to maybe release him, if he was in pain. It were questions Thorin couldn't answer, for they were asked far too rapidly. It was all Oin knew to do. To help Thorin best he may, to ease any of his pains, his discomforts, as he has many years. All Thorin could do was tell Oin that he was well, that he was not hurt, and that if _anything_ was the matter, he would make sure to go to Oin first, as he always had.

“Will ya be like this forever?” Oin eventually asked.

Thorin cocked his head. “No. Not for much longer.”

Bilbo's heart dropped into his stomach, but Dwalin beat him to the question that threatened to burst out of him. “How much longer do ya have left, then?”

“I don't know. Not forever.”

It resulted in a silence amongst the rest. It was Bofur who ended up sniffing. “Will ya stay here until ya do... go?”

Thorin spread his wings. “Aye. Will you?”

All of them nodded, making Bilbo's eyes water with adore. “We will,” Bofur promised on behalf of the group, though all of them were nodding, as though there was no other rational answer to that question. “We'll _always_ follow ya, laddie... Anywhere ya will lead us...”


	10. It wasn't.

“No. Let him.”

Bilbo grinned weakly, drawing his hands back. Instead, he reached out for a warm, knit blanket, and began to gently drape this over Ori's legs. Whether he was dozing or actually asleep, Bilbo couldn't tell... but if Thorin asked to leave him, then leave him he would. “Is he not holding you too tightly?”

“No. He couldn't.” Thorin nudged his head against Ori's chest.

Bilbo took a small step back, heart aching as he watched the scene ahead of him. As he watched, a hand took hold of his shoulder. It was Dori who had reached out for the hobbit, and soon stood right beside him. “My dear brother,” Dori mumbled piteously, shaking his head as he looked down upon slumbering Ori. “So very tired...”

“Indeed. Come, we will give him some time to rest. Thorin will meet us when it has been enough.”

Dori bowed his head. “Thank you, mister Thorin.”

Thorin croaked quietly as his answer, snuggling even closer to the dwarf who was holding onto him like a plush animal, something to cradle him right asleep. Dori only moved closer to press his brow against Ori's before he followed Bilbo into the dining room.

“Poor Ori,” Bilbo said, the very second they were out of Ori's earshot. “Will he be well?”

“After he's slept, he usually feels better,” Dori comforted Bilbo with. “He'll need time...”

“All of us,” Gloin said. Every single dwarf nodded.

Bilbo folded his arms, leaning against the doorway. The dwarves were all sitting around his large table, quiet and withdrawn, still shaken from their experience. It had long gone dark outside, but even then they could not be roused from their disbelief. Something Bilbo Baggins dared not blame them for at all!

“Let me prepare you something. You have been looking after me in my depth of sorrow, let me return the favour. Please do get comfortable. What about some cobbler?”

Bofur peered up at him. He was still very pale and tired. “Did ya know, back then? About all of this... When ye were so very sick.”

That question hit Bilbo like a physical blow to his stomach. That was more than two months ago... And all the while he'd remained silent as a grave. If they had needed any confirmation about how painfully selfish their burglar could be! “Yes...”

Like expected, Bofur looked even _more_ hurt. “Ya carried all this grief by yerself for _that_ long?”

“I'm so sor – wait.” Bilbo almost jumped. “What?”

“No wonder ye were that unwell!” Nori said loudly.

“No, wait, I – I am not entitled to _praise_ here, I hope you know,” Bilbo said with a scolding tone in his voice. “I have done nothing to earn it!”

Balin was the one to shake his head. He had been stuck in his mourning the longest, and was therefor the only one left with a red and runny nose, as well as wet eyes. “What's been done has been done, and no doubt this turned out the best for us, and for yourself... At the time, perhaps Thorin could not speak so very well yet, and you were too distraught to aid us in yer story...” Sweet old Balin somehow managed to smile at Bilbo, despite his dreary mood. “We can't blame ye for any of it. Perhaps ye did what a true friend would do.”

“Keeping it a secret?” he asked, completely baffled.

Balin shook his head. “Ye waited until the word was ready to be spread. Gave yourself time to think, and for us to be prepared... Only a true friend would suffer in the expense of others... Thank you, Bilbo.”

Bilbo began to shake his head. “No, no, I don't deserve any of your kindness on this matter,” he whispered.

“Be that as it may, ya've been thro' quite some. And ya _did_ tell us, in the end,” Bifur said.

His words almost made Bilbo weep.

How did he deserve such terrific friends? It felt unjust, they were _too_ precious...

Or should he ask how people like them ended up with _him_? Surely they could've done better. Someone who wouldn't hog such information because he was a coward...

Determined to prove his worth, he made his way to the kitchen, preparing them a meal. Several, he should say, they were still ten dwarves! No, ten _hungry_ dwarves! Bilbo thought it was Kili who once told him that at least half of the company were sad-eaters, which meant they could literally eat an entire animal on their own if they were in disarray.

But a part of Bilbo didn't believe that, and it made him chuckle. If Kili managed to fool him beyond the grave, then shame on Bilbo!

Bombur, who was one of the merrier ones in the current company, aided Bilbo in the kitchen until they had a meal fit for king, the table stocked with hearty goodness. Perhaps Kili had been right after all, for most dwarves didn't take a plate, no, they took an entire bowl! Though some stood out, taking but one simple scoop of charred vegetables, and maybe a slim slab of venison.

There was no merry song, nor any chatter. There was no music, there was no smile, no light. There was the clinging of silverware and chugging of drinks, chewing of food and rumbling of dwarves.

That until Thorin came flying in. And Bilbo could've sworn the dwarves were twice as lively. “Ori is asleep,” Thorin said.

“Is he alright?” Dori quickly asked.

Thorin flew over to Dori and sat on the back of his chair, croaking happily. “Yes. He was very upset.”

“And now?” Nori asked.

“Better. And you all?”

“Still a bit confused, to be honest,” Oin said. Thorin bowed his head in understanding.

Bilbo was the one to rub his hands together. “Perhaps we should take a moment to assess what we yet wish from Thorin. I'm sure some of your questions have been left unanswered – “

There was no opportunity for Bilbo to finish his speech. Frowning, he sat by the table while the dwarves frantically began to ask Thorin many of their questions, or voiced many remarks or compliments they'd been holding quiet before the battle. It wasn't entirely illogical that they were all wondering about Thorin's experience during his corruption. While Thorin found quite fitting words, there was still something not entirely right about a raven trying to explain its thoughts and actions while being diseased with dragon sickness.

Be that as it may, many dwarves asked some personal things, too. Things to help them seek closure, if they hadn't already found it yet. To be fair, very few had. The dwarves were guilty of the same feelings that Bilbo had so weakly battled. Their friend was back, but it was still an animal, in the end...

“Are ya truly not upset about not being a king?” Balin had asked. “You have been fighting for this all your life... From the very day Smaug had taken it, yer only focus in life was to reclaim it.”

Thorin bowed his head. “And we have. Erebor is ours again.”

“But with Dain as a king,” Balin said, his voice a strong indicator that he was not at all welcoming this change. “ _You_ should have been, Thorin...”

“I have been. I have been your king.” Thorin sat in front of Balin, on the table. “I never wanted anything more than that.”

Balin sniffed, but began to smile. “You would have made for an astounding king, laddie...”

“And all because of you,” Thorin croaked. Balin sniffled, but his smile shone brighter than it had done since Thorin's death.

Bilbo looked at Balin with a raised brow. “I thought Dain had gained your approval.”

“He's alright, but he ain't Thorin,” Nori muttered. All of them nodded and agreed. “And he won't let me steal from the markets.”

That made Dwalin scoff. “And neither will I, _thief_.”

Nori looked down at Thorin. “Now be honest with me, ya never really _tried_ to get me locked behind bars. Why was that?”

Thorin hopped over to Nori. “It was more amusing to watch Dwalin run after you.”

“Ya bastard,” Dwalin mumbled. All of them chuckled, or even laughed. Nori himself was laughing hardest. “But ye're right... Thorin never let me put ya in our cells.”

“He was more amusing outside of it, and was never...” Thorin ruffled his feathers, squirming on the spot. “Big crime dwarf.”

“Criminal,” Nori pointed out.

Thorin bounced on the spot. “Yes. Criminal. Thank you.”

Nori, who was more than satisfied with this answer, smiled broadly and sat back, his arms folded. “Thank _ya_ , Thorin. I'll promise to thieve less, in yer honour.”

The others continued their talking while Bilbo began to clean the table. To think he'd ever have to clean a table from food when he had dwarves as visitors! A very sorry sight, actually. It was nice knowing he had some left-overs, but... for the dwarves not to eat that much, it felt beyond unnatural to Bilbo.

But to be fair, he too hadn't touched any food for days after hearing about Thorin... Could he blame the dwarves for mirroring his response? After all, Bilbo had only known Thorin for about eight months. Most of them have known him for over an _age_.

Scrubbing the plates was a nice distraction for the hobbit. At times, he could hardly contain his own sorrow. In fact, even while washing dishes he almost choked up, hearing Bofur quietly ask Thorin if his nephews ever enjoyed the toys he had crafted, since he always believed them to be a bit sloppy... Bofur had sounded severely guilty, and it was not only him. Gloin's voice had taken a similar octave, wondering if he's been good enough, and if Gimli, while teasing the boys, had never crossed any boundaries that should not have been passed...

“Bilbo?” Bilbo looked up from his dishes to see a very weary Ori scuff in.

“Oh dear, look at you,” Bilbo said pitifully, immediately moving over to Ori. He took the youngest dwarf by his hand and gently pulled him towards the kitchen, so he could sit down. Ori was rubbing into one of his own eyes. “Could I fetch you anything? Perhaps some water? Or would you like some juice? I will squeeze some for you.”

As Ori sat, he began to look around. “The others... Are they talking to Thorin?”

“Yes.” To show Ori that he was being listened to, he dismissed his task completely, leaning against the sink to face him. “If you want to join, you may. I still have some food for you too, if you are hungry.” Ori shook his head weakly. “Are you certain sure? Or I could prepare you something new. Some chips, maybe?”

His questions served no purpose. In fact, Bilbo wondered if Ori had even heard them at all. “I had quite a nasty dream...”

Bilbo sighed deeply, moving over to Ori. He took another chair from the table and moved it, so he could sit down with him. “Will you share it with me?” Bilbo asked.

“We were out... We would often be out...” Ori's hands began to squeeze his own pale cardigan. “We were in the woods, exploring... I think Fili was the one that found the animal...” Bilbo bit down on his lip. He had quite the idea where this was going... “Kili got out his bow, but he missed, and... and the animal was very angry. I don't think he liked it very much that Kili shot at it...” Ori began to look very miserable. “Kili only had his bow, so he couldn't fight the animal away very well... And Fili tried too, but he fell, somehow, I... I'm not sure how, or why, but...”

Surely there was more. Bilbo did not doubt that. But it was because of that thought that he drew Ori into his own arms, a dwarf nearly twice his size, pulling him against his shoulder and holding him there, trying to console him best he may.

It had been the one thing Bilbo had been fighting too. Yes, he recognised himself entirely in Ori at the moment! He has been mourning the boys, even after Thorin's unexpected return. And he wished, oh he wished so very badly that they could be here, too... But to Bilbo, it was a soothing thought knowing that their maker was gentle with them. Gifting Thorin a second chance must mean they cradled Fili and Kili, two of its most wondrous creations, close to their heart.

A lot of tension fell from Bilbo's heart when Thorin came swooping in. He flew straight to them, and while he had come fast as thunder, he was very calm to make his descend on Ori's shoulder. “Ori,” Thorin croaked, nestling on the youngest dwarf's shoulder.

Dori was the next one to walk in on them. “What is the matter?” he asked quickly.

Bilbo made sure to smile. If there was anyone he shouldn't alarm, that would be Dori. “All is quite well, Dori. Come.” Dori and Bilbo switched places, where Dori took his littlest brother into his arms, and where Bilbo was there to observe, and worry.

Thorin continued to nudge his head against Ori's, the sounds he made hoarse but comforting. “Can you say hello to them for me, mister Thorin?” Ori asked sadly.

“I will,” he promised. “I will tell them how much you miss them. I'm sure they miss you too.”

Ori sobbed at the statement, once again hiding himself against Dori's chest for consolation.

“Ye're not the only one, wee Ori,” Bofur's voice came from behind them.

“They shouldn't have been hurt,” Ori sobbed into Dori's tunic. “They were my friends...” Bofur crouched beside a very teary-eyed Ori, handing him a hankie. Bilbo's eyes did not fail to catch that he was giving Ori the one he had gifted him.

While Ori blew his nose, Bofur shook his head. “I too wonder about the lads... I wonder if they were happy... If they liked Erebor... I think about it all the time...” Bilbo felt queasy at the sight of Bofur's disenchanted face. It was a bit grey and he looked to be almost twice his age. “I wished I could've done more...”

“I think all of us would've,” Dori said, and Ori tripped over his own hiccup.

Thorin moved a bit strangely, not saying anything. The lack of response on this very topic disturbed Bilbo greatly.

But this too was a moment that passed. They brought Ori to the others, where he was soothed by all of them. Quite literally too, which made Bilbo smile from ear to ear. All of them said something lovely, their own share of how they felt, about the passing of the boys, or about Ori's grief on the subject. Bilbo has ever missed those boys. He was fairly ashamed to admit he's not missed them as severely as he had Thorin after their passing, but that being said, he was _just_ as happy to have found a spark of closure. A newfound hope that it _could_ be achieved.

When Ori managed to grin again, he looked over at Thorin. “Thank you, mister Thorin..” He fumbled with Bofur's hankie in his hands. “For consoling me.”

Thorin hopped a bit closer to him. “Can you do something for me, Ori?” he asked. Everybody fell silent. “Can you tell me it is not your fault?”

Ori choked quietly, looking at his brother as an instinct to seek for help. But then he sniffled, and looked back at Thorin. “It... wasn't my fault...” But Ori's words held little truth to them. “Do you mean yourself, or are you talking about Fili and Kili?”

“That does not matter. None of it was your fault.”

Ori swallowed hard, but began to nod. “It wasn't my fault...”

Thorin bowed his head a bit lower. “Again.”

“It wasn't my fault.” Ori repeated, his voice a bit softer, but also more believable.

The raven raised his head again before he shifted, turning towards the one seated beside Ori. Bofur. “Bofur...”

Bofur looked very hard at the bird, as though he willed not believe what was asked for him. This was until the tears pooled in his eyes, and he slowly took off his hat. “It ain't my fault...” he whispered, his voice quiet as a breath. Thorin nodded once. Bofur's fingers clutched into his hat, his features trembling with a deep-rooted sorrow. “It ain't my fault.” Poor Bofur hid his face by bowing his head. “But 't is...”

“It isn't your fault,” Thorin said.

“It...” Bofur sniffed. “It ain't...” And for a moment, if only a moment, Bofur's shoulders slouched. “It ain't...”

Thorin pressed his head against Bofur's arm. “One more time.”

“It ain't my fault...” And while Bofur was ready to start weeping, the faintest hint of a grin played on his lips. He sniffed, nodded, and put his hat back on his head. “It wasn't my fault.”

Then Thorin looked at the next. Oin. The dwarf was surprised to have been addressed, his face going almost as white as his beard. “Oin...”

The healer had to draw in a long, deep breath, but began to nod very slowly. “It wasn't my fault.”

Thorin bowed his head at him. “It wasn't.”

“Ah... No...” Oin needed another fine moment before he could speak again. “It wasn't my fault...”

Thorin looked aside. “Gloin.”

His cousin's fists clenched and he grit his teeth, his eyes as full of tears as Bofur's. “I should'ave come. Ya shouldn't have gone alone.”

Thorin pressed his beak against Gloin's tight fist. “It wasn't your fault.”

“But it was, it _was_ ,” he ground out.

“It _wasn't_ your fault...” Thorin brushed his body against his fist again. After that, Gloin's fists began to uncurl, and he let out a long breath. Thorin pressed his head against Gloin's relaxing hands one more time before he looked back up at him. “Say it, please.”

Gloin's breathing was rapid and irregular. “I let ya down, I let the lads down... Me own boy, myself, our kin...”

“No... Gloin.” Thorin nibbled very tenderly at the skin on Gloin's fingers. Having done this made Gloin's hands relax a little bit more, white-knuckled fingers retaining their usual, healthy colour. “It would _never_ be your fault.”

Gloin sniffed loudly, his eyes fixed on Thorin for long. Very long. This, until he inhaled deeply, and his shoulders finally sagged. “It wasn't my fault...”

Thorin croaked at him as a compliment before he looked over to Bombur. “Bombur. It wasn't your fault...”

Bombur, who'd seemingly made peace with Thorin's passing and return, was caught with sorrow at having been told this. But even so, he nodded once, his lips quivering. “It wasn't my fault.”

The raven cocked his head. “Again.”

As it had done with everybody else, needing to repeat themselves caught Bombur off guard. An unwilled sob did escape him, but Bombur wasn't only great in physical size! He was quick to gather himself and nod his head at Thorin, his respect blossoming strong enough for him to softly speak again. “It wasn't my fault.”

Thorin then turned to Bifur. “It wasn't your fault.” Bifur nodded a bit frantically, as though he was absolutely convinced that this was the case. But he did not repeat after Thorin. “Bifur...”

Bifur still did not speak. His eyes were everywhere but on Thorin. It was Bombur who held his hand. “C'mon, cousin,” he encouraged quietly.

Bifur began to shake his head then. “We shou' all have fought together,” he said loudly, so much so it startled most of them.

Thorin hopped on Bifur's wrist that lay on the table, looking him right into his eyes. “Bifur. Bifur.” The dwarf still refused. “It wasn't your fault.” Bifur tried, he really did. But he too couldn't convince himself of it. Bombur and Nori, who sat on either side of him, began to quiet him down and comfort him until Bifur managed to breathe. “Bifur...”

The dwarf nodded very slowly, trying to grin. “It ain't my fault.”

“It's not,” Thorin confirmed.

And while usually very hectic, for the first time Bifur sat absolutely still, but not in any way negative. “It... wasn't my fault...”

Thorin bowed his head gently before continuing on. “Nori,” he croaked. Nori swallowed hard, but his face betray little. “It wasn't your fault.”

“I suppose it wasn't, then,” he said with a quiet laugh. Bilbo had pressed his hand against his lips, feeling his throat tighten. Nori too could barely stand to look at Thorin at all. He was trying so hard to bury that very fact, and because this was palpable, no one laughed along with him. Nori's face fell at once. “It wasn't my fault, I said.”

Thorin looked him hard into his eyes. “Say it again.”

“It wasn't my fault,” Nori repeated, but with a strange, little chuckle. “It wasn't.”

“ _Mean_ it,” Thorin said.

It was the last droplet in an overflowing bucket. Nori, loyal Nori, who had seen Thorin as one of his best friends as he grew up... The dwarf hid himself by turning away from them. Dori hushed him, but Nori was fighting away tears. However, he managed to speak one very sad, heartfelt sentence. “It wasn't my fault...”

Thorin thanked him by pushing his head against Nori's body. Then, he looked aside. “Dori.” The old dwarf began to smile. Tears had long begun to fall, but he nodded. “It wasn't your fault.”

And in comparison to Nori's heartbroken chuckle, Dori's was sincere and full of love, and admiration. “Thank you, mister Thorin. It wasn't my fault.”

Bilbo felt his stomach shrink, and he reckoned he wasn't the only one. Thorin himself was a bit slow too, as he had to look at one of his oldest, dearest friends. “Balin,” Thorin croaked silently. And Balin was almost spontaneously sobbing. “Balin.... It wasn't your fault...”

“No, no, I could've done more,” Balin exclaimed in tears. He leaned on the table, face buried behind shaking hands. Dori was quick to reach out. “Why didn't I help ya, Thorin...”

“There was nothing more you could've done,” Thorin assured him. “My friend. Please...”

“I saw it happen to yer grandfather, it should _not_ have happened to you. We should've never reclaimed that accursed mountain!”

“We _had_ to,” Thorin urged, hopping closer to Balin. “And we have. And I am _happy,_ Balin. I am okay. I am...” Balin finally lowered his hands, looking at the raven sitting before him. “I promise...” Balin sniffed loudly, shaking his head again. “It _wasn't_ your fault,” Thorin repeated.

Balin had to breathe. He took his moment, trying to steady his burdened breathing. Bilbo was observing with tears in his own eyes, watching Balin try and collect himself best he may. If there was one person he hated to see so very beaten and broken...

Even so, Balin managed to nod. “It... wasn't my fault...” Thorin moved closer until he could press himself against Balin's chest. Against his heart. “It wasn't my fault... But I still hope you can forgive me, Thorin...”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Thorin said. “ _Nothing_.”

Balin pressed the raven harder against his chest, bowing his head in an attempt to hug him, and to hold him. “It wasn't my fault.”

“It wasn't,” Thorin croaked quietly, nuzzling in Balin's hands until they were both comfortable. “Nothing has ever been, my brother...”

And just like Dori had, Balin chuckled. It made everybody smile.

Everybody except for one.

Once Balin had found the courage to release Thorin, and press their brows together for one last time, Thorin looked to his side. And the raven remained as silent as all the others. Bilbo hated this moment with all his heart, because even without having a conversation, he could see what was playing between the two of them. And at the moment, it wasn't love...

“Dwalin – “

“Ye couldn't have waited a second longer,” Dwalin said curtly. Thorin flinched at his words, and unlike what he had done with everybody else, Thorin moved back a bit. “ _One_ second, Thor. I could've been there. I could've saved ya.”

“You could not have,” Thorin said, but even as a raven he sounded careful. “It was not your fault–“

“Donna try and tell me that,” Dwalin hissed at him. “If it were to be anyone's fault, it would be _mine_.” He pushed his own thumb firmly against his chest. “I let my guard down. I didna protect ya. I could _never_ utter those words because it was my fault, Thorin. All of it!” Tears sprung in the warrior's eyes at his own statement. “I watched the lads run into that tower, and I watched ya hurry after Kili when we lost the most precious boy there is! I let the two of ya get out of my sight, and then when I watched ya struggle I did _nothing_!”

“Dwalin, y – “

“It _is_ my fault! There is something I could have done! I was the only one to come back down from that accursed iced lake and the only one people cared least for to receive!” Dwalin's voice broke. “Had I not come back, would everybody not have made peace with that? They wanted _ya_ to live. And I wouldna hold it against them. I _too_ wanted that.”

“Stop, Dwalin,” Thorin begged. “It _isn't_ your fault – “

“It is _only_ my fault,” he choked out. “It was me... It was all me... Because of me, one of me brothers, my wee boys... Gone... All gone...” Dwalin crashed down onto the table, his head in his hands. “All gone 'cause of me... because I wasn't attentive enough... Because I wasn't fast enough...”

“I would _never_ think that. No one would. Not the boys, and certainly not me,” Thorin said, finally daring to hop closer to him. “I did not need saving. And above all else, I would _never_ want to see you hurt...” Thorin pressed his own head against Dwalin's, closing his black eyes. “Death is a gift compared to losing you, brother...”

And for the first time in his life, Bilbo was forced to listen to the sound of Dwalin's weeping. A sound that shook his entire being, that shook the entire company. Hard, hacking sobs came from him, and he shrank together even further, trying to shield himself from his sorrow.

“It wasn't your fault,” Thorin said quietly, moving closer and closer, pressing himself against Dwalin best he could. “It wasn't. It would never be...”

“I failed the boys,” Dwalin sobbed. “I failed _you_..."

“What makes you think you can?” Thorin asked him. “What makes you think any of you could _ever_ fail me.”

That comment touched multiple of the others as well, including our hobbit. Bilbo dipped his head himself, looking at how his fingers fumbled together on the table.

But while the comment had touched many heartstrings, Dwalin stilled. “I am happy,” Thorin again reassured him. _Them_. “I am at peace... And I want you all to be, too. Nothing would make me happier. Nothing would make Fili and Kili happier, knowing you would feel well.”

Dwalin sniffed loudly, finally looking up. His face was pale, except the tip of his nose and his eyes. “I'd be a whole lot happier if the three of ya could be here.”

Thorin fluttered his wings briefly. “I _am_ here.”

“Ah... aye...” Dwalin nodded sluggishly. “Right ya are...”

“Dwalin...” Thorin jumped to sit on Dwalin's hand, looking at him with piercing eyes. “It wasn't your fault.”

“Only it was...”

“It would never be. Not even if _you_ had killed me. Dwalin. Dwalin.” Thorin bit at Dwalin's clothes when he refused to answer. “Say it.”

“I... I can't...”

“It _wasn't_ ,” Thorin said. “It was not your fault. I promise.” Dwalin sobbed again. “It wasn't your fault.”

“It...” Dwalin swallowed hard. Balin now finally leaned over, rubbing his brother's back very gently. “I could've done more...”

“You couldn't have. It wasn't your fault.”

“It... It was... wasn't...” Thorin cocked his head, but it made Dwalin growl. “Donna make me.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“Thorin, I won't say it.”

“Say it,” Thorin said louder.

“It _was_ my fault – “

“Say it!” Thorin cawed angrily.

Dwalin scoffed at him. “Never!”

Balin leaned closer to him. “Brother, easy – “

“Say it!”

“No!”

“ _Say it_ – “

“Fine!! It wasn't my fault! None of it was my fault, it was _yours_!” Dwalin roared. “Ya dimwitted idiot, what were ya thinking, facing Azog on yer own, head-on?! What did ya _think_ would happen! And now ye're gone! That is _your_ fault! Not mine! Yours! _Yours_!!”

Dwalin was met with nothing but silence.

Bilbo's hand was pressed against his mouth again with shock, and he looked rapidly from one to the other. Dwalin was leaning on the table, his flat hands pressed on there with his nails scraping in the wood, with Thorin having gone so still he looked as though he wasn't even breathing.

No one seemed to be in this very moment...

At long last, Thorin pushed himself up. “Thank you, Dwalin,” he said sincerely. Having said that, Dwalin began to sink back down on his chair. “Thank you...”

“No...” he whispered. “No, no I – I'm sorry – “

“It wasn't your fault.”

Dwalin sniffed loudly, but drew a shaky, unsteady smile. “I suppose it ain't, no...” Thorin bobbed his head, gesturing for Dwalin to continue. “It wasn't my fault...”

Thorin began to look around himself again, and one after the other began to smile. Bilbo hadn't yet said those words himself... but he could feel the lifted weight in his own heart. And if anything, there wasn't a thing he's yearned for _more_ than for the dwarves to finally accept what had befallen them, their princes, and their king...

The evening went on, but it could not be compared to the way it was before this. Nothing measured up to the sensation of the dwarves feeling liberated _ **,**_ having acknowledged they were not the wrongdoers. And while Bilbo knew many of them had felt guilty, he hadn't thought that all of them had been constantly blaming themselves. Wishing they could have done more, but had not been able to. Or had not been in time to do so.

Bilbo sat with them until he could barely keep his eyes open anymore. “I shall go to bed,” he announced. Many of the dwarves were smiling again, and if they weren't doing that, they were busy working their way to it, chatting with Thorin or each other until they felt a little less burdened. Even so, being met with at least seven smiles made it much easier for Bilbo to get some sleep. “Be well, all of you. Take all the time you need, and worry not about the noise you might make.”

He was replied to by several wishes for a good night, and with that in mind, Bilbo made his way over to his bedroom.

In there he slipped into his nightwear, but was surprised to hear the soaring of wind. The flapping of wings filled his ears a moment before Thorin landed on one of his bedposts. “What are you doing here?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin nestled on the bedpost. “I should sleep.”

“What of your friends?” he asked.

Thorin was quiet for a moment, but then balled himself up further. “Tomorrow...”

Bilbo pursed his lips, but ended up agreeing. “Very well,” he said quietly.

There was no one to be silent for, but Bilbo still made sure to tiptoe over to the door of his bedroom, and closed this. He blew out his candle, took a swig of water, settled beneath the blankets, and rolled on his side, ready to get some sleep. Though it shouldn't have to be demanding, this day had drawn a _lot_ of energy from him.

The dwarves were quiet. Perhaps Bilbo had hoped to hear them, for the silence that followed his departure was discomforting to him. He would've wished to hear them laugh, or hear them sing. Maybe he still hoped to hear Thorin's humming one day, and hear the others accompany him, as they once had...

“Bilbo?”

The hobbit leaned up, looking at Thorin, who still sat on the bedpost. “Yes?”

Thorin shifted before he sat upright. “Would you mind if I sleep with the others tonight?”

“Ah...” Bilbo smiled at once, pushing himself out of the bed before he had even answered his friend. “No. Not at all.” He made his way to the door and opened it for the raven. Thorin flew over to him. “Good night, Thorin. And keep them safe.”

Thorin croaked silently, bowing his head at him as he flew still on the spot. “I will.”

Bilbo smiled, closing the door behind Thorin. No moment later, the smial was once again filled with the cheer and laughter of dwarves. Bilbo has never fallen asleep this fast in his life, because he knew, and he _truly_ believed that Thorin was honest in his word. Even if it depended on his own life, if there was one thing he could trust Thorin with... it was to keep his friends safe...


	11. Sister dear

“And what of my hair? Am I presentable?”

Bilbo was speaking to no one. But he did not care. To him, his current hairdo was more important than his drifting sanity. Wasn't it to any hobbit!

This very morning, all the others had left. They had promised to stay in the inn for a short while, to grant Bilbo and Dis a moment together, would this be for only one day or multiple. None of them had slept very well, of course, having spend most of the night chatting with Thorin until there was nothing more to be said. Or, rather, nothing more that had needed discussing before Thorin had left them all on Ravenhill. It had left all of them tired, and Bilbo had no doubt that they were all sleeping in some cozy beds right now! And if he would have had the chance himself, he would have surely done the same!

But the meeting with Dis had to happen, and Bilbo loathed to postpone this any longer! Though in truth, he would be glad of it. And he was not the only one... Thorin too would have benefited from it, seeing how particularly restless he was today. Not because of his friends' departure, but the arrival of his kin... At least, these were the pieces Bilbo had put together himself, for Thorin had not spoken to him yet. And if he had to base this on character, then he would indeed be correct, for Thorin would always socially withdraw when he was uneasy, especially during their travel!

“Well, mister Baggins, had I not known you, I would surely find you respectable,” he murmured at himself, pushing his small scarf into his blouse. “Very respectable indeed...”

“Stop it.”

Bilbo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Thorin, this is for your own good.”

“Dis will be mad,” Thorin argued, before he flew over. He sat down on top of the standing mirror.

“Nonsense, I cannot imagine!” Alright, yes. Call him a liar! He could very well imagine that someone related to Thorin would be quick to anger. Could one actually imagine otherwise? “I have been told by the others that Dis is a very fine woman, and I believe them. You have nothing to be afraid of. Not to mention that she is your sister, Thorin, and perhaps you might rest easy knowing you have not spoken to her, but the same goes not for me! Oh no, I would bathe in regret until the very end of my days, knowing you have not spend your limited time with your actual kin!”

“That's _my_ choice,” Thorin said with a snappish sound.

Bilbo huffed. “Try and stop me.” Thorin cawed furiously at him before he flew away.

Thorin, on the other hand, did not welcome this change of pace in the slightest, and would rather not have had Dis here _at all_ , if it could have been prevented.

Neither of their moods improved by much. Bilbo especially was very fidgety. He did not even know Dis... How was he meant to do this?

His heart leaped painfully in his chest to hear pounding on his door later that evening. “Oh dear, here she is,” Bilbo said. Thorin immediately flew away. “Thorin – please, do not hide. She is here for you, not for me!”

Even so, Bilbo shuffled towards the door. He was breathing deeply for courage before he opened the door. Behind it, framed by the dark skies of autumn, stood a dwarf cloaked in brown. Bilbo felt himself swallow as he drew open the door.

Just like Thorin, she bore a certain ominous energy, an aura that humbled him at once, one that spoke nothing but authority and grace. But she did not initially look like a woman. Not to be insulting, of course! Oh no! But, for starters, she had facial-hair, which wasn't very common with hobbits – or females in general, he reckoned! It was beautifully black, embracing her jaw elegantly _ **.**_ In it hang two silver marbled beads, and her hair was a true work of art! This hair was nothing like the hair of her brother. Or all Durins, he should think. Kili never fancied looking after his hair, and Fili and Thorin really only wore braids. Their hair could not be compared to hers. Although there were dark streaks of sleek, wavy hair draping down her shoulders, the intricate braiding and the addition of small, glistering gems was nothing but stunning! It made Bilbo wonder if Dori would be jealous of hair so brilliantly done!

She raised her nose at him, and for a moment, Bilbo feared she would ask about his weapon of choice. But she did not. “So, you are the infamous hobbit?” she asked instead.

Bilbo choked in his breath momentarily. “Y – Yes,” he eventually managed to say.

Even their voices were alike! How could that even be? Or was Bilbo starting to imagine things?

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Yes!” He was starting to repeat himself, and cursed himself for it. Surely he could do better than this! “My apologies, milady, please! Do come in!”

The dwarrowdam swept past him, her boots thumping into the silence of the smial.

Bilbo closed the round door behind them both. Somehow, it felt a little less warm, and the light was not as vibrant as it used to be... Bilbo sniffed, not really knowing what else to do.

“This is a very homely house,” Dis remarked when Bilbo had remained a bit too quiet for too long.

“Why – thank you! It's been in the family for generations!”

Her head turned slowly. “How many?”

Bilbo's lips parted and he only made a soft sound before he felt his throat slip shut. “One...” he mumbled.

But Dis appeared not to match her brother entirely, for she managed a grin already. At him, no less! That had taken Thorin, well... perhaps one month, if not more!

And even though it was withheld, her smile was a spectacle at that! One he would definitely cherish having received!

Playing the role of a gentleman, he took her cloak from her shoulders and helped hang it up, inviting her into his kitchen. Dis' eyes were roaming a bit restlessly, as though she was very wary, wondering if she might suddenly run into something weird. Bilbo set some water to boil, simply assuming she wouldn't mind some tea. Fili had once told him they were raised on herbal teas because of their mother!

Dis was behaving like the most proper guest he could've asked for. At the table she sat perfectly straight, hands merged and atop of the wood. “You may relax,” Bilbo had told her, but it earned him a strange, weak frown. “Or not,” he'd then whispered to himself, feeling the humiliation burn in his belly. He never meant to be demanding...

“I did not come here for tea,” Dis said, though she gratefully took the cup from Bilbo's hands. “What is it you wished me here for? After all, I have traveled half the world for this visit.”

“Yes, yes – indeed! You are very much correct, lady Dis – “

“Dis. Just Dis.”

Bilbo then sat himself down at the table, taking with him a small dish of cookies and cheeses. Cheeses for himself, and cookies for Dis. He's been replicating many recipes from the cookbook Bombur had once gifted him, and they were almost all sugary and sweet! No doubt Dis was any different!

And he was proven right at once, seeing her take one. “It's... quite something. Could I perhaps fetch you anything else so you might feel more at ease, or more comfortable? A pillow, perchance? I actually have one you might appreciate – “

“None of that,” she said, holding up one of her hands. Her eyes, however, remained somewhat hard and shielded. “Please speak.”

This was not an easy chore, you can imagine. Not for Bilbo, at least! Dis' heart has been crushed more than Thorin's ever has been, he was told in confidence – which actually did explain this behaviour. But that mattered not, the fact still remained that, by telling this, he might wrong her. And this has been something that he's thought of many days, many nights, many meals! Might she not believe him... Or what if she could not take this change for granted? Or she would not at all believe it?

Bilbo didn't start tactically at all. “Do you believe in ravens?” he asked.

Dis scowled at him. “Do I believe. In ravens.”

Bilbo nodded, biting down on his bottom lip. “Yes.”

She let out a soft huff. “Master Baggins, please do tell me I did not come all this way for you to ask me something of such high ridicule – “

“No, no – I meant to ask if you believe in their myth.”

“Their _myth_?” she asked loudly. Then she sat back, folding her arms.

He was losing her.

“Oin,” he blurred out. “Oin, he – he told me once that ravens are dead people.”

“ _What_?” she breathed, her brow furrowing into a frown of misunderstanding.

Oh no, he was doing this all wrong! Frantically, the hobbit leaned forward. “I'm so very sorry, please forgive me – oh, I am so very _terrible_ at sharing such news! I have been pondering for days, _weeks_ , on how I should best tell you, but I couldn't find a way! And of course, even if I find a way, I too discover how I can royally mess it up while I am at it! I am such a fool!”

So, he drew a deep breath.

“I'm sorry. Let me start over! This is not a topic I should take lightly, nor joke about.”

Having said that, something in Dis' eyes changed. Almost as though she was starting to get nervous, and finally saw Bilbo's sincerity and delicacy for the matter at hand.

“Oin, your cousin – that's correct, right? He is your cousin.” Dis nodded at him. “He told me that, after the fall of Erebor, and the battle of Moria, many ravens were born, and it was said that they carried the souls of lost ones... Now I barely believe any of those fables but you must excuse me, though I always had a colourful fantasy, things as such never really captured my interest. However, I... I was met with a raven, at my door...” Bilbo began wetting his lips. “The others, they might have mentioned it. I named the raven after your eldest brother.”

She sighed and folded her arms. This was clearly not a fun subject for her, to take such a defensive stance. “They have mentioned, yes, once or twice.”

“But I did not do this without proper reason. See, I found that... that the raven that came to me, is...”

“Him?” Dis finished for him. Bilbo glared up a bit shyly, incapable of anticipating her response. “My brother. A raven.”

Of all the things she could've done, Bilbo had not expected her to laugh. But perhaps he should've.

Was it that absurd a thing to do? No. It truly wasn't! Taking in consideration that Bilbo was trying to convince her that her brother was now a bird. Would he not have laughed if Gandalf had tried to tell him this, had he not met Ra prior to his tale? If Oin had suddenly stated that he was carrying Thorin around on his shoulder when they would first meet again? It would be too grand a joke to take seriously! So no, he _should_ have expected this response! And he had been very oblivious not having done that.

Yet it did not make his task any easier.

As slowly and carefully as he may, he tried to explain what had happened. Spoke about Ra, who first flew over to him from Erebor to befriend him. How, even after having tried to shoo him, he continued to return. How they bonded, how he acted.

It took time. Luckily Bilbo is a patient man! He sat with Dis, and for almost twenty minuets too before slowly her smile began to fade, and her colours went more white.

Silence overtook the house when Bilbo had done his explanation, and his story. Dis' hands trembled around her cup of tea. It had gone cold, quite alike the atmosphere around them. Bilbo could practically feel himself shake, solely because he had to look upon Dis' sickish face. “I'm so sorry,” he eventually whispered, seeing her head fall. “Should I go and get him? He must be around here, somewhere... He cannot have fled, lest he's shattered one of my windows.”

Dis sniffed and cocked her head slowly. “Very well...”

Bilbo got up, but made sure to squeeze her shoulder before he went farther into the house. He felt truly awful for her... For the moment being, at least, because he was positively certain that Dis would cheer up, being reunited with her brother!

The hobbit had to search his own home far and wide in order to find Thorin. Chamber after chamber he searched, incapable of locating the black animal. Sighing, Bilbo walked a second round through his home. Surely Thorin could not have escaped! At least, he's never done that before, would he really do that now?

At long last, Bilbo Baggins groaned, running his hands through his hair with peaking dismay. “Thorin, _please_ come out,” he said tiredly.

No response. Of course...

With a soft grumble Bilbo continued to roam. This round, however, not in vain!

A soft croak betray Thorin's position. Bilbo had to lie flat on his belly, finding Thorin tucked away underneath his bed, hidden in the darkness. Bilbo smiled with pity. “Come,” he said. Thorin made a hostile sound at him and somehow wiggled even further into the crook of the wall and the nightstand. “Thorin... she is your sister, and she really wants to see you... Can you really deprive her – you _both_ of such a blessing?”

“You should not have told her,” Thorin said. Never before Bilbo has heard his squawking so silent... It was still a raven in the end, but... call him delusional _,_ but he would almost believe that, for a split second, Thorin's actual voice had been there.

“If I had not, we would both learn to regret it. Please come away from – “

“No.”

Bilbo ran his hand down his face, frowning. Now was not the time to be stubborn. “Thorin.”

“No.”

“Thorin.”

“ _No_!” the bird cawed.

“Everything al – “ Startled, Bilbo swiftly tried to push himself up. The poor hobbit bashed his head against the underside of the solid wooden bed, falling back on his belly with a loud _oof_. “Oh dear, master Baggins – “

“It's fine, it's alright!” He scrambled to his knees, rubbing the sore back of his head with a sniff.

Dis stood there with her arms folded. “Scouting for monsters?”

“I have already found it,” Bilbo grumbled.

Dis crooked her fingers, gesturing for Bilbo to get up. He obeyed at once, swiftly pushing himself up to his big feet. Then she moved towards the bed, almost nudging Bilbo aside as she did so. She stood before it, looking as though she was ready to punish a child. “And you are not jesting?” she asked, her voice strung tight.

Bilbo shook his head at once. “No. He's there, supposedly a bit shy.”

“No...”

Dis' head snapped up, and she looked at Bilbo, needing confirmation of her hearing. It only disturbed her that Bilbo nodded. “Thorin?” she whispered. Dis held onto the bedpost, going through her knees, but never further. “If... If this is truly you... I need you not to toy with me.”

Knowing not what else to do, Bilbo sat himself down on one of the chairs in that chamber. This was not his place to intervene.

“Brother,” Dis eventually said. She shook her head, and after that, she started talking into her own language.

Bilbo still did not know it, did not understand it. But he had to cut her short. “He does not understand.” She looked up at him. “Khuzdul, he – he is not trained to, er...” Bilbo sniffed. “To talk or understand that.”

“Oh...” At once, Dis looked ten times more distraught.

“Should I leave?” he asked.

It took a second, but then she shook her head. “I'm not certain what to think... Surely my... my brother would not ignore me... Not from beyond the grave...”

Having said that resulted into a soft rustle.

Both breathless, they waited on what happened next.

It was a beak, peeking out from underneath the bed. Nothing more.

Bilbo was almost tempted to pick up his bad habit of biting his nails, something he used to do when he was still a little sapling himself. Something he did during the journey, too. He did not like the way this was unraveling at all. How could Thorin possibly be this hesitant? Would he not rejoice that his sister was here? That they could talk, one last time?

Not to mention that Dis could _finally_ find peace.

He has been told of her misery. How she had changed once the news of her perished kin had been shared. Balin had been the one to properly inform him of it, actually... With his hand on his heart he had to swear never to tell a soul, because Dis would crumble, knowing how she had behaved after she had been told. How she had shattered completely, how she had hid, how she had kept herself removed from the world entirely. How, apparently, she had been so tempted to join with her sons, her husband, her brothers and all those that came before her, that she had stopped eating and drinking entirely, willing for the darkness to swallow her whole. Had her friends, or whatever little had remained in Ered Luin, not helped her, she surely would have fallen.

So clearly, a hobbit who has led quite an uncomplicated life, one not that long either, could not begin to imagine what she must've gone through... what she was _still_ going through... but wouldn't Thorin know? Would he not, with all he could, try and douse her sorrow? He probably could with one single croak.

After all, Bilbo was starting to slowly find his peace too, having talked much with Thorin already. Not yet about... well... you know what, but...

Bilbo sighed deeply. Dis' eyes were full with tears, and she had seated herself on her knees, by the bed. One of her tears had to shed before she dared to speak. “For more than one year, Thorin, I have been on my own. If you are actually there, underneath the bed, I...” Biblo saw Dis' fists clench. And he was not the only one. Thorin slipped back underneath the bed.

But Dis drew a deep breath. Exhaled deeply.

And her muscles relaxed.

“But you have done it... Like you promised. I hope you've had the chance to see Erebor, before you...” Dis bowed her head. “Did my sons?” she whispered faintly. “Did they see it?”

Thorin did not respond, so Bilbo sighed. “They have – “

“Please, master Baggins,” Dis murmured. Bilbo swiftly nodded and sat back. “I mean no disrespect, but – “

“No, you are absolutely right! Thank you for correcting me. I will – I should go – “

“No... Stay. Please.” Dis used her sleeve to brush it past her nose, and she sniffed. Then her focus shifted back on the bed. Rather, what was still hidden underneath it. “Master Baggins here vouched for your character... Since you flew to him before you... even bothered coming to me, your kin, or your friends... could you come from under the bed to at least satisfy him? If, indeed, the hobbit means more to you... than...”

Dis sobbed then, and Bilbo was tempted to join her.

He should've told them sooner... _Why_ had he been so selfish?

Perhaps it would have been for the better if Thorin had ignored her plea. But he hadn't. Asking to appease Bilbo had tricked him from underneath the bed, though not by much. Really only his head and breast.

“Sorry,” the raven croaked.

Dis almost choked.

“Sorry, Dis... Fili and Kili... I... I killed them...” The raven bowed his head with shame. “I'm so sorry...”

Bilbo felt a bit sick to his stomach, watching Dis shake on the spot. How hard she was trying to keep her posture, to remain strong.

But logically she couldn't.

Awfully bold, one might say, but once in a while Bilbo found that shard of Took inside himself. As he did now. He got up from the chair and took Dis by her shoulder. “Come,” he said quietly. And when he got up, Dis followed his movement, pressing her hand to her lips. “We'll sit down...”

Dis let herself be led out of the chamber. Bilbo made sure to take her to his smoking room, where a fire was lit. She would be comfortable there, he'd figured. After all, he has spend many hours on this same couch, with a pipe lit, pondering and daydreaming! And usually he would find his rest here. If there was one thing he wished for Dis, it was exactly that. Peace. Rest. Has she not been through enough already?

Bilbo was rubbing Dis' shoulder with a little bit of dismay tickling his toes, for he wasn't nearly on terms good enough to sit with her as such! The one thing making it bearable was a shared affection for Thorin, and a shared sense of humanity, a will to console whoever wasn't feeling at their best.

Both of them were distracted by the fluttering of wings. Thorin settled on the armchair, but looked heedful. “Sorry,” he said again. “Dis. Sorry.”

He could feel her seize underneath his hand, so he quickly hushed her, massaging the one shoulder he was holding.

“Sister.” Thorin hopped a bit on the back of the chair, wishing to get closer, but limiting himself to that one spot. “I regret that I did not come to see you – “

“You did not even try, did you? More than one year,” she said loudly, her voice trembling. “That is inexcusable...”

“I know.” Thorin hopped again. Bilbo sighed, watching the bird. He was clearly restless, and not at all at ease. “I was not ready – “

“And you think you would ever be? You think _I_ , or anyone else would _ever_ be?”

Thorin's figure shrank together.

Bilbo pressed his lips together, being in the middle of this very uncomfortable, very long silence. Thorin did not move one feather, Dis barely sounded as if she was breathing.

 _Very_ uncomfortable... And he's been to many family gatherings in his life, so don't mistake his judgment!

Eventually, and thank the Valar for it, Thorin moved. “I loved them.”

Dis sobbed hard at the statement.

“I loved them both. I loved them as much as you did, as though they were my own sons – ”

“I _asked_ you to keep them save,” she growled sadly at him. “If you loved them this much, then _why_ haven't you?”

“They kept me safe.” Thorin flew over, sitting on the floor before Dis, seemingly too afraid yet to sit right beside her, or with her. “They protected me.”

Dis shook her head. Bilbo reached for a hankie the second he saw tears run down her face. “That is not right,” she said. “You have always protected them... Their entire lives, Thorin. You always stood between them and _any_ harm that could befall them... Why have you failed them now? Why were you not there when they needed you the most?”

Bilbo felt that his heart stung.

That was not how it happened... He would not think to accuse Thorin of their deaths. Or had he been wrong not to?

“My boys, Thorin.” Dis' voice shook horribly. “My precious boys...”

The raven moved a bit oddly. Bilbo has never seen him do it before. So disrupted, almost as though he was being choked, pushing his head around, squirming the way he did. Admittedly, Thorin has never found a way to properly display his grief. And somehow, Bilbo felt as though this was it.

Had Thorin been sitting here, with them, he too would have been in tears. Bilbo liked not to think of it. He has seen this once, and it had shattered his heart completely at the time...

“Sorry,” Thorin said. “I swear that I tried – ”

“Did you?” she asked crossly. “You could not even keep their names apart at times! You expect me to believe that – “ Dis' huff came out as yet another sob. “Who am I supposed to be with now, Thorin...? Who should I turn to? Where do I go to?”

Only now Thorin flew up, sitting on Dis' knee. “Home.”

“I do not know where home is. They say it is where our heart lies, but I... I have...” Dis shook her head. “They are all with our maker... _All_ of them, Thorin. Not a single heart is yet pounding for _me_. Everybody I once loved has gone, returned to stone. My sons lie below marble, where they are alone and cold... And even though you sleep with them, I find no ease. I cannot.” Tears streamed down her face again. “How can I possibly move on from here? There is nothing...”

“Go home,” Thorin repeated, and even though he was a raven, he sounded thoughtful. Sympathetic.

“There is nothing there, isn't there? Nothing but the shade of an old life... A _good_ life... With you and Frerin, and our parents... How can I possibly return if not to find a house for me and my boys... If not to show my sons our rightful kingdom, show them where we first stole our first piece of candy, and where we bought our bread... Show them the many halls you told them about before the hearth, when they were... just wee pebbles...” The dwarrowdam sniffed loudly, hands squeezing at her clothes. “How can you expect me to return without seeing you occupy the throne... and be my king...”

Bilbo looked upon Dis with compassionate eyes, willing to hold her close, embrace her whole. But he could not find the strength for it. A bit awkwardly he wound one arm tightly around Dis' shoulder, and stuffed the other in the pocket of his waistcoat.

You might think him a fool, but for a moment, when Bilbo again blinked, he was not looking upon a raven. He did not hear the shrill sound from a pointed beak, he did not hear the sheer effort it took to speak with love, and encouragement.

As though he lay witness to a distortion in the air, he saw a shape similar to Thorin himself, a large figure in the middle of the room, who was crouching before her sister, gripping Dis' shoulder, the same one Bilbo was holding. And imagined or not, Bilbo felt his own hand get warmer.

The biggest, most love-bearing eyes, though transparent and vague, were trying to connect with his sister's, searching as they always would... as they always _used_ to...

“Dis... I _need_ you to go home. Go back to where you were carved. Return to your sons. Return to our kin. Return to our friends. Return to _me_. We will welcome you there, I promise. All of us... Waste not your precious time walking with ghosts.” Bilbo's heart seized when he saw Thorin grin.

That soft, youthful grin, with round cheeks and friendly eyes.

“You have so much more yet in you. So much potential... Do not let that go to waste on _anyone's_ behalf... Especially not mine. Not your sons'... Live the days we cannot. See Erebor in the likes of the days of yore, when they were carefree and fruitful... And mourn you may, but let this not rob you of what might yet be _good_ in your life, Dis...” Thorin cocked his head thoughtfully, his smile ever glowing. “You have, and will always be, the strongest dwarf I have ever known. I _need_ you not to be smitten... Sister...” One of his hands smoothed down the side of Dis' face, and even though a raven sat on her lap, he could see Dis wince ever so slightly at the touch, her lip quivering. “There is yet honour in the line of Durin. Still strength. All of that is _you._ My treasure, my pride.”

Thorin leaned forward, pressing his brow against hers.

Bilbo has seen many dwarves butt heads... But he has _never_ seen one so gentle, so achingly full of heart, and desire. It choked the poor hobbit up completely.

But Dis relaxed. In her brother's non-existent hands she managed to draw air into her lungs yet again with ease. Tears that had been in her eyes were shed, but they fell like the last that would ever fall down her face, ones reserved for her brother, ones that were there to drag her through such a great loss.

Bilbo made sure to tightly hold onto her, take her into both his arms, but when Dis opened her eyes again, as did Bilbo...

Thorin was gone.

Bilbo heaved a shaky breath, but smiled best he could. Dis, despite looking more calm, more at rest, was still trembling slightly. But Bilbo would not be a proper hobbit if he would not understand.

He took both her hands instead, their shoulders touching, and they sat together. And while you might think it was only the two of them, it was really the three of them. Bilbo did not see Thorin's shape again, but he felt cloaked in his warmth once more, feeling safe and protected as he would in his presence.

This speech had not been meant for him, and yet... his heart felt a little lighter.

But his feelings did not compare to Dis, for she, for the first time since her kindred's death... could breathe again.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you, Bilbo, for your hospitality.”

“But of course, no need to thank an old hobbit like me! I have thoroughly enjoyed having you as my guest, and please don't mention the bread, I always loved baking, and I always will!”

Dis chuckled, looking at the loaf of bread. “Is this a custom?”

“Why, I think not.” Bilbo began to grimace. “Although you might be onto something here.” Smiling, Dis tucked the bread into her pack. “See how you will eat it, share it perhaps, or feast about it alone!”

The dwarrowdam let out a merry laugh. “Share it I will, no doubt! The others are still tucked away in the inn, how they must crave a piece of your bread! Your food has been one of the best I have ever had, and I know very well that they share this very opinion. So in that light, thank you again, child of the West.”

“You ought to stop thanking me at some point, by all means! I partook fairly little in this endeavor!”

Be that as it may, Dis once more took the small hobbit in her arms. Bilbo loved her hugs so much. They made him remember...

“Certainly you feel more at rest when you return,” Bilbo told her.

Dis smiled and nodded at him. “No doubt. I shall see Erebor in all her splendor again, as my fathers have once intended. And while I may not live much longer to see it blossom as it once has, I shall serve Dain best I may, and live with my kin!”

“Good! I am very glad to hear, lady Dis, daughter of Thrain! And may your beard grow ever taller, of course, one of the many wishes I would like to bestow upon you. I shall pray for your safe and hasty return to your family, and to your home. No doubt it shall glitter in a different light!”

“No doubt it shall indeed.” Dis finally drew her pack over her shoulder after having been with him for three days, her cloak falling so that she was well-hidden underneath. “And you, Bilbo Baggins, do not forget to live your days to the fullest. I shall forever remain thankful of your services, those that you have provided now, and those you have given to my kindred.” Dis swallowed hard, but did not stop smiling. “On behalf of my sons I thank you also, and although I have only heard tales of your bond with them, they were never short of love and appreciation. I stand in your debt.”

“Nonsense! But if you insist, I shall relieve you with it by asking you to send me a letter, once in a while!”

Dis laughed at this. “I shall see this done.”

Bilbo fondly embraced her again, taking a moment to properly hold her in his arms. After that, he straightened his blouse. “Thorin! She is leaving!” Bilbo called out.

Dis glowered at the sound of wings, as she has done ever since they had spoken. “Ever as lazy,” she told her brother once he settled on the table.

Thorin cawed wordlessly at her.

“And dramatic, indeed.” Dis moved over, her hand pushing from Thorin's head to the end of his tail. “Now be good to your burglar, Oakenshield, or I will personally return here and pluck your precious feathers one by one.”

Thorin flapped his wings. “You are still just as menacing.”

Bilbo chuckled, tucking his thumbs behind his suspenders at the soulful sight.

Dis cocked her head. “Be good... And may we meet again. If not in this life, then I shall see you when our maker allows it.”

“I'll miss you,” Thorin said.

“And I will miss you too, brother dear. Do what you must. Settle your feuds, and find peace. It's long been overdue...” Thorin croaked affectionately, nudging his head against Dis' after she had leaned closer to the raven. They remained still like this for a solid ten seconds before Dis withdrew. “Farewell.”

“Farewell, Dis.”

Dis then pushed herself up, her hand running one final time down Thorin's head.

She did not look upset. She did not look averted.

Durin's last daughter was beaming with enthusiasm. “Now off I go,” the old lady cheered, moving towards the door at once. Bilbo followed her, and as he did, Thorin sat down on Bilbo's shoulder. “I am ready, at long last, and I cannot wait. Would it be in poor taste to thank you once more?”

Bilbo laughed. “It would not be! Please do say hello to the others for me.”

“But of course, it would be my pleasure. Keep an eye on your mailbox, I shall soon write you something of my whereabouts! And please do know that, might you ever see fit, you shall _always_ be welcome in Erebor, and welcomed as one of our own. Undoubtedly the others have already made sure of this, but they would have misbehaved had they already offered my hospitality to you.”

He cocked his head. “This would not be the first time.”

“Indeed.” Dis walked down to the fence, but the moment her hand held onto it, Thorin flew straight towards her, sailing through the air to finally settle on her shoulder. “You were always so very clingy, Thorin.” Bilbo smiled at the irritation in her voice that only a sibling's voice could have. But she was, of course, not at all annoyed! “Will you accompany me then, one last time?”

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked.

“Do as you please! See to it that she is safe and accompanied!”

Thorin swept off Dis' shoulder, and into the air he went, soaring around his sister as a guard. “Let us sing!” he heard Dis say, as she moved down Bagshot Row with Thorin hovering around her.

The singing of ravens was not very pure and fair _ **,**_ but the harmony of Dis and Thorin's song was endearing, by far the best way to warm a hobbit's heart! In fact, it was this very noise, one overflowing with merriment and liveliness, that made it easy for Bilbo to close the round door behind himself with a smile from ear to ear, knowing deep down in his heart, for the first time, with _much_ conviction...

Dis, daughter of Thrain, sister of Thorin, mother of Fili and Kili... would be just fine.


	12. A fond farewell

“So you will stay here, then?”

“Yes. Leave the door open.”

Bilbo scowled, pushing his nose into the air. “To think I will take commands from a bird!”

Thorin cackled at him, a sound Bilbo knew the bird made when Thorin laughed. “You speak as though you haven't followed commands from animals before!”

Bilbo usually had his wits about him, but tonight was not one of those nights. “At least they were more wise than you ever were,” Bilbo said with an accusative voice. It only made Thorin cackle again. “Don't you think I'll make it easy for you! I'll leave it only slightly ajar!”

That, Thorin could agree to. “Good night, Bilbo.”

“Good night, Thorin.” Bilbo picked up one of the two candles left burning in the smoking room, and he made his way over to his bedroom. Thorin had always been a bit sassy, come to think of it... Even when he couldn't chat well he'd snap and bite at Bilbo. But that didn't mean he would have to take his behaviour for granted!

Thorin was quite a funny little thing, Bilbo heard himself think. And it felt very alien to him, but he found himself almost incapable of sleeping without Thorin there. The sounds he'd make, even if it was the brushing of feathers or those soft, purring sounds that'd come from him when he was vast asleep... Sounds that assured him Thorin was still there.

Sighing, Bilbo sat himself back upright. It'd not been long – no more than a couple of minutes. But he felt wide awake, and he knew very well he wouldn't fall asleep in the next hour! In that case, he might as well make some preparations for breakfast.

Bilbo threw his legs over the side of the bed and got up, but his attention was drawn by a very soft _clunk._ Gasping, Bilbo nearly threw himself to his floor, seeing the ring he'd found in the Misty Mountains roll underneath his bed. “Don't you dare run off,” he muttered at it, rotating it between his fingers. For a moment he only stared, convincing himself that he should put it away, and get started on his breakfast.

That is, had he not been feeling slightly mischievous.

There had been enough sorrow these last few days, with weeping dwarves and sisters! For the moment being he was determined to capture some new, fond memories with Thorin as well. And he'd found himself the perfect opportunity for it, too, as well as with the greatest weapon known to men!

Having considered everything he could be doing instead of pranking Thorin, he still ended up pushing it around his finger. If Thorin felt like he could play ownership over Bilbo, maybe he should show him who was the actual boss around here!

On the very tip of his toes, Bilbo moved around in his smial. Perhaps it was rather crude of him, but it was long overdue to give Thorin a little fright! After all, has the raven not surprised him so many times? Had his kind worn socks, he would've surely jumped right out of them!

As sneaky as a hobbit could be, Bilbo approached his smoking room. He could hear Thorin before he had entered the room. Good, this would be far more successful if Thorin was in fact awake!

Trying not to laugh at how giddy he felt, he rounded the corner.

And yet, Thorin had once more succeeded in surprising him.

Bilbo stood still, absolutely dumbstruck, his jaw drooping. A hum so very soft and delicate caught his ear. So heavy... so morose...

All that came from his throat was an involuntary gasp, but eventually Bilbo managed to breathe again, though ever so shallowly. “Thorin...”

Pale, bright white eyes met his. “Bilbo.”

Had he not been so very terrified that this moment would end, he would surely have fainted.

Thorin was right in front of him, by the hearth, his hands on his back... He then came moving over, and stood still right before him. “Couldn't you sleep?” he asked. Bilbo did not respond. He was too busy staring. “Bilbo?”

The poor hobbit rubbed his eyes immediately and took a small step back. At the moment, he wasn't certain which confused him more.

The fact that Thorin could see him... Or the fact that he... could see _Thorin_.

“No... no, no...”

Thorin raised his brow at him, suddenly looking very anxious. “You look pale... Are you alright?”

Bilbo began to very slowly reach out, his trembling hand moving towards Thorin's face. His hand shook badly, and while he wasn't trying to hold his breath, he found that he had stopped breathing altogether.

It was not clear. It was not sharp. It was vague, messy, like smudged charcoal. Only it was white – white like a million stars, a light not sore to the eye, but captivating, beautiful and pure. It was only light. A stunning, immaculatelight that shone on Thorin's distinct facial features. His brow, his nose, his beard, his eyes. Strings of liquid moonlight fell down his shoulders, tall hair that had once been black as the night were shining bright, weightless and glistering. And while Bilbo's hand went right through when he tried to press his shaky fingertips against Thorin's cheek, the air felt a bit warmer, softer, as though he was touching invisible silk.

Bilbo withdrew his hand at once, instead pressing it against his lips and taking another step back. No matter the size of his large feet, he felt unbalanced, and unsteady.

“Bilbo?” Thorin began to sound even more worried, a face illuminated with white, strung with deep fear. “What is the matter?”

“Y – You... you...” Bilbo swallowed, realising his mouth had gone completely dry. “How... how is this possible?” he whimpered.

Thorin began to study Bilbo more closely. His blue eyes searched, trying all he could to help Bilbo, to clarify.

In a spurt of fright, Bilbo yanked the ring off his finger.

The room he was standing in was suddenly dark, deprived of the unnatural pale light. And to Bilbo's utmost dismay, he was no longer looking at the friend he once knew.

He was looking at the raven, who was flying in front of him. “What's wrong?”

Bilbo winced and gasped. The scratchy, hoarse voice of the raven was back. It was quiet and low no more... “I must be losing my mind,” Bilbo said, his voice quaking.

Thorin flew a bit closer. “Extend your arm,” he said.

Instead, Bilbo took yet another step back, the very second the raven began to approach. “I _am_ mad... You couldn't possibly...”

His fingers smoothed over the cold ring, a newfound temptation coiling deep in his stomach. And as he let the feeling persist, it began to itch in his heart as well. A temptation that could hardly be fought at all. That is why, against his own will, afraid of going wild with madness... he once again pushed the ring around his finger.

“Oh no.” Bilbo choked out, eyes stinging with tears.

The dwarf standing before him looked so very miserable, so deeply grieved. “Can I help?” Thorin asked. Bilbo found his eyes flutter shut at the serenity in his voice, how calm and how... _familiar_ it sounded. “Please, Bilbo.”

“It's really you, then?” Bilbo asked.

As though stating the obvious, Thorin nodded and grinned. A grin so very full of sorrow. “Of course it's me.”

“I thought I was going insane,” he admitted, voice hoarse with sadness. “When you spoke to Dis, I thought my mind was finally... That I was...” He swallowed, his throat obstructed by a large, prickling lump. “That I was finally so very desperate that I lost track of reality.”

Thorin cocked his head at him, his eyes darting left and right so very rapidly and briefly as they always would. Those searching, curious eyes, trying to notice every single one of Bilbo's features, collect every twitch of his nose or blink of his eye. “You can see me?” he asked.

“I... I think I can...”

And there it was. The moment Bilbo had dreaded the most, but had longed for hardest.

A smile.

But Bilbo would not just long for any. Throughout his short, but fulfilling time with Thorin, he has received many, and seen even more. Yet he knew, only _he_ knew the one that had meant most to him. It was one of the only ones he remembered so very keenly, one he would see when he wondered... what could have been. Perhaps what _should've_ been.

Though already lit, Thorin's face went more bright as he began to smile at the hobbit. A heartfelt, affectionate smile, one that stole from Thorin every worry, every trauma, every wrinkle of old age and stress. His face smoothed into something youthful, something so endearing... His eyes sparkled with fascination and friendliness. Round cheeks, a row of fine, white teeth, and an aura of elation and relief.

As though he was broken from his corruption.

The greater difference was that this time, there was no one to interrupt... And Bilbo had the honour to look upon him as he wished he had done back then. Looked as though it would be his last time. Studied as though he would never lay witness to its grace again.

Yet here Thorin stood. And there Bilbo stood.

“My wish,” the hobbit whispered. Thorin looked up from that, so Bilbo swiftly shook his head. “My – my wish, I – I wished to see you once more. I wished to have you back.”

“I remember.” Thorin began to smile again. “I was there when you spoke to Gandalf.”

“You... you _were_... You really were...” Bilbo shook his head with disbelief and sniffled. “I couldn't believe it at the time.”

“I do not blame you,” he soothed. “I was not myself, after all.” Thorin began to grimace. “How can you see me now, I wonder.”

“Er – “ Bilbo held up his hand as his answer. Thorin's eye caught the glistering gold around Bilbo's finger at once. It was impossible not to. In this void of darkness around them, Bilbo's ring shone like a thousand suns. “My ring.”

Thorin looked shocked at first, but his face eased into a soft grin. “Your ring.”

“Yes. Yes – my ring.” Bilbo scraped his throat and glanced down. The touch of warm air was brushing down his cheeks. He closed his eyes, forcing one tear into falling. “I'm so relieved... I did not think I would ever learn to love you as a bird. Not how I used to when you were _you_.”

“I am here now,” Thorin told him. “I am here, Bilbo, and I promise you... I am not going anywhere...”

 

* * *

 

“At long last. I cannot believe them. Always in such a dire need to chat.”

Thorin cawed and flew through the smial. “They're nice!”

“Nice, yes, but that about sums it up.” Bilbo set his basket down on the table. As fast as he could, he tucked his hand in his pocket to slip the ring around his finger.

He felt relaxed the very second he wore it. As though he could finally breathe again. “You should talk to them more.” Thorin was standing with his arms folded, though looked amused. “You are locking yourself away again, master Baggins.”

Bilbo made a very dismissive sound. “Pork?”

“That would be very much appreciated.”

Bilbo picked up the nicely packed slab of pork and smiled. “Perhaps you should bond with them more! I am sure they would love it! You are the entertainment of many!”

For the first time in a long time, Bilbo was met with silence.

Grimacing, he turned around. Thorin stood in the middle of a wooden, round doorway, his arms held closely against his body and head dipped. “What is the matter?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin looked up at him briefly and then sighed, before he moved over. Within the shape of Thorin he could see the black figure of a flying raven, that settled on a chair right before Bilbo. “I had wished not to tell it yet.” Thorin looked at him harder than he's done before. “While I have tremendously enjoyed my time here, Bilbo – “

“No. No, don't you dare,” Bilbo said in a laugh. It only roused pity in his perished friend. “No need to talk of this, hm! Pork! Yes, pork!”

Thorin sighed. “Bilbo – “

“Nice and salty, is how you lot like it, right? I could set a mountain of salt on your pork and you would find it bland! A strange lot you all are!”

“A time would have come either way – “

“Who says! _Gandalf_? That wizard speaks of much he does not know,” Bilbo scowled.

“I am still here,” Thorin assured him. Bilbo folded his arms and huffed at the dwarf. It only made Thorin smile. “And behaving like a hobbit child won't make a difference... Bilbo, if you would agree... perhaps it is time for us to talk. We have not yet discussed... well... You know of which I speak.”

Of course he knew! Which was precisely why Bilbo refused to do exactly that!

“I heard Gandalf too. I am well aware that we shan't have time worth a life together, so let us make the best use of what little we have now... I can _feel_ my essence get weaker.” Thorin took another step forward, approaching the hobbit tentatively. “And I have waited until I was capable of speech so that I could say what I wished without sounding insincere, or... so very much like a bird.”

Bilbo's fingers twitched nervously. Then he drew up his nose and spun around. “Any pepper on there as well – “

“ _Bilbo_ ,” Thorin urged.

Bilbo bowed his head, his hands curling into the fabric of his trousers. How much more could he do to deflect this topic? How much longer could he postpone this inevitable, horrendous conversation...

Claws grabbed him by his shoulder, and wings fluttered clumsily to attempt and drag the hobbit along. It would always scare Bilbo at first – looking at Thorin always made him forget that he was talking to a raven!

Loyal as Bilbo was, he did follow Thorin. The raven led him to his comfortable chair, where Bilbo dared to let himself fall into. Thorin himself – his shape, Bilbo should say, sat down on a small footrest. Bilbo would find it rather funny. It was easy to be humoured seeing such a large dwarf on such a tiny stool, after all!

Yet, it was nothing but a distraction. Something to pry his mind away from what was about to come. And in truth, anything was more fun than this subject. _Anything_.

“I...” Thorin sighed deeply. “I have yet to apologise to you, master Baggins.”

“You have. You already have.” He then clapped his hands together. “Lovely chat! Let's – “

“Bilbo,” Thorin now growled. “Please.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I wish not to speak of this.”

“Whether that is a wish or not, I shan't waste my last chance on account of your stubbornness! I hope you understand this.” Bilbo grumbled, but sniffed. “How about you let me speak, and you sit and listen? It shan't be as bitter then.”

That was something Bilbo severely doubted... but it _did_ sound easier on him.

It took the hobbit everything he had, yet he managed to nod.

This, Thorin took as his signal to begin.

“There is nothing I can say that will justify my behaviour in Erebor... or the fact that I have hurt you. Physically and otherwise.” Thorin's hands began to fumble together. “And though I was not myself entirely, I... I was there. Behind darker eyes. There is so much I had wished to say, but so little time to say it in...” Thorin began to bow his head, so he did not have to look at the hobbit. “I apologise Bilbo, I was never very good with words myself.”

“That's alright...” Bilbo murmured silently.

Thorin sighed deeply. “To put to words what I felt for you, it's...” He began to frown. “It's challenging to me. In you, I found something I have not with others. And to me that is... complicated.”

“What are you trying to say?” Bilbo dared to ask.

“Honestly, I... I don't know... I tried to prepare myself for this moment, but I found myself incapable of it. There is so much I had wanted to tell you, before I left Arda, before I would return to stone... But now that I have the chance I feel at a loss of words. And I couldn't possibly find any that would be strong and meaningful enough to... validate my actions at the gate...”

Bilbo raised his brow. “Is that what you are so pained about?”

“I meant never to hurt you,” Thorin said sadly, shaking his head. “But I _have_...” The dwarf held both his hands below his face and looked at them as they shook. “I.... I abused you, jeopardized our friendship.. I took away from us what precious little time we could still have spend together.. And for what.”

“But I am not angry with you for that! I am angry that you died!”

Thorin had not expected to hear those words. But to be fair, Bilbo had not expected to say them. With both his hands clasped around his own mouth, he looked at Thorin.

However much it might have damaged him, it only brightened the light in his eyes. “And I am so sorry for that,” he whispered. “But Bilbo, my death... It was necessary – “

“Don't you say that, you are _not_ allowed to claim such an awful thing!”

“I grieve not for my own death.”

“You insufferable – “

“Hear me out,” Thorin told him quickly. Bilbo sat back on his chair, his eyes full of tears. “Master Baggins, I set out on this quest to reclaim my home, and I have. I knew very well what was waiting for me at Erebor. From the very moment I left home, I knew I would not return. I did not expect myself to. And that would have been fine.”

“But _why?_ You would have been a king, and a most perfect one at that!” Bilbo cried helplessly. “Why would you _want_ to die?”

Thorin shook his head. “There is something different about wishing to die, and being at peace with death. From the very second I... I damaged you, and started that accursed war – “

“That war would have happened regardless! The greater difference you have made was that you united all the armies!”

Having said this made Thorin look up with large eyes.

“Yes, you meant it for slaughter and revenge, but that is not what happened, in the end! Had you not wanted to go to war, the other dwarves would never have come! Dain would not have led his army across the world and _if_ he had, he would have been too late and every elf and man would have been killed! The elves stood ready for battle _because_ of you! Had you offered peace, they would have gone and Erebor would have been flooded with enemies! No one, not even Smaug himself would have been able to defend himself against such a grand army!”

Thorin was absently staring down, but there was something changed about him.

“What bothered me, Thorin, is that you _stopped_ fighting! You could have lived! Had you been more careful, you would have lived!”

The comment made Thorin scowl. “That is no guarantee!”

“You could have waited for back-up! We could have fought Azog together – “

“Where were you, then?! Had you wished for me not to fight alone you should have fought with!”

Bilbo laughed indignantly. “You stubborn piece of dwarf, I _would_ have, had I not taken a bloody rock against my skull!”

“You have no saying in what I deserved to die for – “

“You are my friend, Thorin!”

“And you are mine but that does _not_ mean you get to say whether I did right or wrong by – “

“Wrong! You did _wrong_!”

Thorin frowned. “I died to save my people – “

“You died and you _left_ me!” Bilbo yelled. “And that was selfish – you are _selfish_!”

“Selfish!” Thorin cried. “I have murdered thousands of innocents! I have let a dragon fly towards a town and I did not even watch as it destroyed _everything_!” Thorin pushed himself up from his seat fluently, pushing his thumb against his chest. “I united armies to slaughter _innocent_ people! I did _nothing_ while people fought for me, while Dain fought for my name, my honour, and what did I do to show for it?! What else could I have given but my life?!”

“Your word!” Bilbo shouted sadly. “You could have given your word – “

“No one would have wanted me after the battle, Bilbo, don't you understand?! The things I did are _unforgivable_!” Thorin's voice broke. “What honour would there be left in a man that did all that I have! And for gold, no less! In order to protect something of so little actual value I brought so many people in danger, I took more lives than I have ever met with in a lifetime!”

Bilbo shook his head. “That was _not_ you! The Thorin I knew would never – “

“The Thorin you knew was weak, he was greedy – “

“He was heroic! He was loyal, he was – “ Bilbo choked on his own words. “He was my friend. He was my _only_ friend...”

“What a waste that has been,” Thorin breathed. “Surely you could have found someone worthy of your...”

Bilbo swallowed hard. “My what?” Thorin did not answer him. Instead, he fell back down on his seat. “I don't care about worth. I do not care what you do deserve, and don't deserve... What I do know is that death should not have crossed your path...”

“No.” Thorin shook his head. “It should not have crossed _yours_ , Bilbo... I would not take back my death... I would, however... If...” Thorin growled as he battled to find the right words to say. “I would not be here if I only needed my death avenged. That was right. It did happen, but I do not weep because of it. But I... I would have...” Thorin sighed. “I would have changed what happened between us... What happened to you. It was my one regret.” Thorin leaned down on his knees then, hiding himself best he could. “I would have given you so much more... I would have been there. Instead I... I grew so attached to you, and then in the end I discarded you like a filthy rag... We could have ended on good terms, and it would have been so much easier for me, but there was no time... And I wish I could have protected you from that. From myself... Perhaps I should have done you better, to make sure you would not have to witness my passing... Or that you would not have heard of it at all...”

“I would only have been worse if I had not been there...” Bilbo said quietly.

“I had needed you there, I had wished to apologise. But in doing so, I sputtered blood and scared you lifeless... I should not have banished you at all. I should have known you acted out of love, and not resentment, nor betrayal. You cared for me...” Thorin shrank even further together. “And I cannot believe I did not see that...”

He and Thorin have never been very physical, but the urge to hold him, and comfort him, had never before been stronger. Bilbo felt himself almost twitch on his seat, eager to still Thorin's grief, however he may.

“I am so sorry, Bilbo,” Thorin told him sadly. “To know I have left you in so much pain... I would not have been so very touched by it, had you not meant the most to me...”

“The most?” Bilbo asked, his voice faint as a whisper.

“I... I am not sure how to put this... And even worse, I am uncertain as to if it was real or not... I was so very captured in my illness, I would have... I would have done anything I could to have kept you safe. To have kept you by my side. When you gambled the Arkenstone, I was...” Thorin's hands balled to fists. “I did not think you could wrong me. I did not think you could do anything that would make me cherish you any less.”

“Thorin – “

“But even after you had left, I had felt so very clueless. I felt alone, and all my life, Bilbo, I have spend on my own. Feeling lonely has ever been part of who I was, it was something I had learned to ignore, I _knew_ I would never feel accompanied in life. I was well aware I would... never...”

Bilbo sniffed. “And yet?” Thorin nodded very subtly, his eyes still downcast. “You're right... I was not ready to lose you.”

“And I you... And it is a shame that we couldn't...” Thorin scraped his throat. “I'd wished...” Bilbo bowed his head now, too, fingers pinching in the fabric of his clothes, hoping to find some strength in this grip. “I am glad, Bilbo. That you listened... I know it is very little consolation, but when I asked you to return home... I meant it. I needed you back here. I needed you away from all the vile that is in this world. Of all the people I knew, I worried most about you... If there was anyone I would have protected...”

“Would it have been different? If you had still been alive?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin looked up at him then. “No... I could not have asked of you to stay.”

“Perhaps I would have wanted that...”

“Don't be a fool.” Thorin began to smile at him. “Master Baggins, while I would have loved for you to stay, do know that you are too beautiful to wither in a mountain. And you could yet have a life here.” Bilbo shook his head unconsciously. “You need not kid yourself. You are young, you are in the prime of your life.” Thorin moved closer, his see-through hand reaching out. “So much good will yet come your way. You have a chance to live life to the fullest yet again... Please do this.”

“For you, you mean?”

“No. Not for me. For _yourself_ , and no one else.”

Bilbo shrugged. “I have always been on my own. I suppose I had hoped that, in the end, we could be alone... _together_... I know that sounds so very stupid, but...” Even so, Thorin's smile only grew. “We're both misfits. But not with each other.”

“Bilbo... you are _not_ a misfit. You are a gift. You are a treasure, and I beg of you to find someone that can cherish you as you deserve.” Thorin moved even closer, having to sit on his knees to look Bilbo in his teary eyes. “Someone who can see great value in who you are.”

“Like you did,” he breathes sadly.

“There will be many. You will find someone in your life that will mean more than I have to you –“ Bilbo winced, but Thorin moved closer at once because of it. “I need you to trust me on this, Bilbo. I _need_ you to.”

“Everybody keeps telling me this, but if it's so simple, then why can't I forget about you?”

“No one said it was going to be simple. It _isn't_. Moving on is never easy. Look at me.” Thorin began to chuckle, though it was full of sympathy. “I could quite literally not move on. And it pains me to know that I left you, but not only because of what I had wanted. Because I knew what you would _need_. And I could not give that to you. I could not be there to offer you this comfort... Having to leave you was the hardest thing I ever had to do, because I knew what destruction I would leave behind. But I hope, dearly, _truly_ , that I have left some good, also. Something that might encourage you to move on.” Bilbo sniffed loudly. “And I know this is not easy to find, or even harder to accept, but if you can find the strength, _do_. So we can both move on... Master Baggins...” One of Thorin's hands smoothed down the side of his face. “Bilbo...”

Bilbo swallowed and tried to smile. “You have called me Bilbo now more than you have during our entire journey together.”

“Then I was a fool during our entire journey together,” he whispered. Bilbo accidentally sobbed. “Maybe I should have said it more... had I known it would comfort you.”

Bilbo sniffled and whimpered. Thorin got up because of it. Bilbo would watch as he moved. Though he was weightless, he still walked the exact same way as he used to, Bilbo noticed...

The dwarf fetched for him a handkerchief. Bilbo held out his hand with a shaky smile to receive the piece of cloth. For a moment, it did actually startle him to feel claws on his knee, where Thorin was resting his hand. Forgetting he was chatting with a raven was something that came very easy to him... Especially now.

“If I go... Will you be alright?” Thorin asked. Bilbo blew his nose. “I need you to be honest with me.”

“I will have no choice,” he said.

Thorin shook his head. “My departure will not mean that you will _have_ to make peace with it. But I am asking you to. And I want to know if you will be alright before I do...” Thorin smiled fondly at him. “I have spoken to my friends, and to my sister. They will endure. They have each other. But it worries me that you have no one to reside in. I do not want you to be alone... And I feel an even smaller desire to leave you alone.”

“To think you could not find peace because of me... What a joke.” Bilbo blew his nose again. “I never meant to make you so miserable.”

“Miserable?” Thorin breathed. “Bilbo, I have thoroughly enjoyed my time together with you. And I am very sincere about this.” Thorin smiled from ear to ear. “I have done all that I have wanted to. I had wished to return to the Shire at some point, and I would see it in all its glory. During daytime, while hobbits work in the garden, while you sit outside, smoking, having a meal being the greatest of your worries. Of _our_ worries.” Bilbo sniffed but chuckled. “And I have done exactly that. You introduced me to other hobbits, you welcomed me into your home as you once have. You were hospitable, you were kind, I have smelled the scent of your excellent cooking and I have been sitting on your armchair by the fire.”

“But you had to do so as a ghost,” Bilbo mumbled.

Thorin cocked his head at him, his smile ever growing. “But I have done it. And I have done it together with you... which is all I could ever have asked for.” Thorin's transparent hand reached out, and he lay it on Bilbo's hand, where it was resting on his knee. “I have had the chance to share in your interests and to enjoy the many luxuries your home had to offer... Whether I would be a dwarf or a bird, I never cared much for that...” Thorin's fingers twitched, as though he was trying to get a hold of Bilbo's hand. “As long as you were there to share this delight with me.”

Bilbo let out a very short, hard sob. “You're speaking in past tense,” he told Thorin, his voice hoarse.

Thorin bowed his head sluggishly. “I am so very thankful, Bilbo, that you have taken this time to sit with me, and allow me to share with you my feelings... But now that I have spoken to you...”

“No. No, you can't. Not yet.”

Thorin smiled instead. “You will be well.”

“Thorin, _don't_ you dare,” Bilbo hissed at him.

“You have no idea how lucky I am, that I have been gifted another chance to speak with you, and to _be_ with you,” Thorin said, his eyes shimmering with glee. A kind Bilbo has seen once before... In fact, this was when Thorin lay before him, his face dirty with grime an blood. “You will be fine, Bilbo Baggins... Of this, I am certain.”

Bilbo looked down at his hands, one of which he held his handkerchief with, and the other that was being cradled by Thorin's. “Will you come and visit me more often?” he asked brokenly.

Thorin hummed at him. “You are a fool if you think I shall ever lose sight of you.” Bilbo's lip began to quiver. “I promise to watch over you as I once have, Bilbo. I will guard you best I may. After all, am I not responsible for your fate?”

“Oh no – no, you're not,” Bilbo said quickly. “Don't burden yourself as such.”

“I don't think you understand. I _want_ to be...” Two hands brushed down Bilbo's cheeks like a soft summer breeze, a tickling warmth that made the hobbit shudder and whimper. “What do you need? What can I yet give to you to help you move on?”

Bilbo shrugged weakly. “For you not to go.”

“Some things are destined to end,” Thorin told him quietly. “But what we have, what has grown between us, shall _never_ decay. This, I promise.” Thorin smiled. “I couldn't let it.” Bilbo shook his head and sobbed. “Find someone who can aid you through. Our friends are still here... _Your_ friends. They will do anything for you, Bilbo, do not underestimate their loyalty, and their love for you. Speak with them. You have done it once before,” Thorin said, and he began to smile even wider. “When I first met you, you were at peace.”

“I had a distraction back then,” he said in his own defense.

“ _Exactly_. Find something. Anything.” Thorin cocked his head. “You were kind to the raven. Perhaps he will wish to stay, might you offer him food on a regular basis, and are friendly to it.”

Bilbo sniffed. “Could... _you_ make Ra stay?”

“I will try my hardest. You have my word.” Thorin lay his hand on his chest. “As I promised you, Bilbo. Anything I can do.”

Bilbo's hands fumbled weakly with his hankie, and he shook his head again. “Don't go...”

Thorin chuckled silently, and even though he smiled, he ignored Bilbo's comment entirely. “Is there something you yet wish to say to me?”

“So much... So, _so_ much,” he whimpered. “Enough until we would both die of old age.”

That made Thorin laugh with adore. “As is the way of hobbits.”

“Y – Yes.” Bilbo chuckled as well, but it sounded broken and hoarse. “There will be so much, Thorin, that I want to ask, that I want to tell...”

Thorin's hands both wrapped around Bilbo's, an enveloping warmth and slight tingle. “How about this... Gather every question you wish to ask. Every tale you wish to tell... And I shall be there. When you join me.” Thorin was smiling again, as lovingly as possible. “We will find somewhere to sit. Maybe a fine mug of ale, a pipe in our hands, a fire lit... I too have some stories I would like to tell.”

Bilbo began to sob. “Will you be sure we meet again?”

“I will make sure of it... You have my word.” Thorin leaned up, and even though Bilbo could not see it, he felt it. He felt it in every fiber of his being. The soft, delicate touch against his brow, a heat that originated from there and spread through his body, rushing like fire through his veins. A warmth that made Bilbo's shoulders sag, eased his tight chest, allowed him to deeply exhale, and relax.

“You really are going...” Bilbo realised.

There was a soft hush. “It is time for me to... I am tired, Bilbo.”

The longer the heat against his brow lasted, the easier it became for him to breathe.

For the first time since he left Erebor, something in his chest unclenched. It went very slowly, but Thorin gave him all the time he needed. Allowed him to breathe, each drawn longer than the one before, every one of which healed the broken hobbit a bit more. “I would not have left you,” Thorin suddenly murmured at him. “I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to understand that there was no choice... Not for me.”

“I get it...” Bilbo sniffled and nodded. “I understand.”

And then, his head perked up.

He understood...

He _finally_ understood.

The small hobbit gulped, and even though he could not think of a reason, he drew his ring from his finger. For a moment he blinked, only blinked, looking at the raven that was still seated on his lap.

“Thank you, Thorin...” he eventually murmured. “Thank you...”

For one final time, Bilbo scooped the bird into his arms, tucking him in the crook of his elbow. The raven nuzzled against him as it always had, even while Bilbo was moving towards the front door. With every step he took, there was a wish-wash of emotion going through Bilbo's mind, and heart. His hands would clutch around the raven with a desire not to release it at all, but the persisting, stronger feeling was a will to finally let it be free... To ease its burdens, let it rest...

After all, had he not deserved it? Was it not time for him to finally sleep? To close his eyes against all the pain and wrath in the world.

He has done his fighting. And Bilbo had been selfish to think that, just for him, Thorin would have to continue... That was not right. And he finally understood. Thorin _had_ to leave. And while he would have made for a most astounding king, while Bilbo knew that he would have kept every word, every promise... how could he yet expect so much more of him? Of the man who fought through every bitter second of his life...

It was over. This was it. And if Thorin could make his peace with that... then so could our hobbit.

Bilbo opened the front door of his smial, looking across the lands ahead of him.

Besides, the shape of Thorin's figure would not be erased. His memory of their journey wouldn't... And what they had meant for each other was something Bilbo would _never_ forget.

“Be well...” Bilbo whispered.

As calmly as he could, he crouched down, setting the large raven down before his feet. It looked up at him, and Bilbo found the strength to chuckle when it moved his wings restlessly. “Until next time,” Thorin croaked.

“Indeed...” Bilbo brushed his hand down Thorin's feathers again, and watched his black eyes close with serenity. “Thank you, Thorin. And thank you, Ra. I will find peace!” Having said that offered him a burst of determination. “I will find someone to spend my days with, and while I shall mourn for you, my dear friend, I will learn how to live my life to the fullest again. For you.”

“For _you_ ,” Thorin said.

Bilbo nodded weakly. “For me... Go back to your parents and theirs, meet again your brother and your nephews. Do say hello to them for me, if you would... I miss them terribly... Now go and seek rest, my old friend.” Bilbo managed a smile, but it was full of tears. But do not get him wrong. It was not with grief.

Perhaps, for the first time, Bilbo found his acceptance. He found the importance of putting his friend to rest. And he found that, if only to offer Thorin what he has been searching for all his life... he should let it.

While it ached his heart to say goodbye... was there any goodbye that could be said without a spark of sorrow?

Especially when saying goodbye to someone forever...

Bilbo pushed himself to his feet and dried his tears with his sleeve. Incapable of standing here like this, he took his ring from his pocket and put it back on, only so that he would have one last chance to look upon the grace of Thorin Oakenshield.

And he met with the most loving, heartfelt smile.

“Farewell, master Baggins,” Thorin said to him.

“Farewell Thorin, son of Thrain,” Bilbo said. “Until we meet again.”

Thorin smiled even wider, and bowed his head briefly. “Until we meet again...”

Bilbo's hand clutched around his own, forcing the ring around his finger. Thorin's white-golden smile vanished as he turned around, and descended the steps to Bag End. With every step he took, the white light around him began to fade, the halo around him losing its pristine shine, his silver hairs going dull with shadow.

Before Thorin reached the fence, Bilbo had lost sight of the twilight figure. He began to sob at once, tears streaming down his face. Almost as an instinct, he drew the ring off his finger.

Released from the dark, colourless void, he was met with a bright blue sky, vivid greens and the colours of flowers, the irksome sounds changed to happy chatter and laughter, the cheering and singing of children... The sounds of wind and birds, including the one he called his own...

Bilbo inhaled deeply. Hugging himself, he watched the raven fly off into the distance. But he was not upset. He did not feel lonely, or empty-handed.

“Goodbye Thorin,” he said silently, watching the raven fly towards the horizon. “May your memory never fade...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The journey of sharing with you my first story, it has been a tremendous pleasure for me, and I admit to being a bit emotional. Not only when having written this, but because of your kindness, your support, your compliments and your curiosity... 
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, please let me know, either by a kudo or a comment. I have enjoyed this so very much, and it would put my heart at ease knowing that you have, too!
> 
> Thank you all so, so very much for being there with me ❤
> 
> And, for one last time,
> 
> **Thank you.**
> 
> For reading this, for reading the story, for even getting this far. Thank you so much ♪


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